


Iron Will

by RNandSniper



Series: Intentionally Misfiled Reports [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, FUBAR - Freeform, Hurt Illya, Hypothermia, Stranded, cuddling for warmth, disturbed childhood, hurt solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RNandSniper/pseuds/RNandSniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up in the Canadian North, the team becomes stranded with limited supplies.  Gaby's freezing, Solo's unconscious, and Illya's on the defensive because their enemies are still looking for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet Hill

Illya was finally asleep when the mayday came from Gaby. After eighteen hours of listening to the background hum of static, and the infrequent conversations between Solo, Teller, and the researchers, he had finally lain down for a short nap after he was convinced his comrades were both snoring; not that Gaby would admit it. It had been difficult to fall asleep with the wind howling fiercely through the trees, and Illya could make out coyotes loudly playing, perhaps only two klicks away. Sound carried farther and clearer on cold nights. He lay down in his sleeping bag, headphones still on, the transmitters providing a static buzz interrupted by two sets of heavy breathing. The tones were so contrary he hardly could imagine resting at all, but he was the backup, the only extraction available if this mission went south, and he had to stay fit. Waverly was working on getting cooperation from the local air force, but due to the time sensitive nature of the mission, their British commander did not have time to arrange for all contingencies before he had had to deploy his agents. He stretched out as much as he could in the cramped tent, letting his mind drift.

He assembled his tent just inside the tree line of the forest that surrounded the research facility, while he waited and listened, his equipment running on battery power. Illya's large escape bag, and his outdoor gear were stashed at the entrance to the tent. Physical alarms had been wired around his campsite, set up to make noise if triggered, watching his back while he monitored his partners. For the two days he had been there it had grown more frigid, but he simply shrugged and wished he had brought more cocoa. Illya knew how to handle the cold. His tent was big enough for him to kneel and sleep, and he had spent time piling snow around and on it. Inside the tent, it was quite pleasant, warm enough that his equipment didn't freeze and he could to shed his parka and outer jacket. The to-go backpack held proper supplies for his partners, as well as an outdoor survival kit. He had a fancy gadget or two with him, more than the survival training had allowed with Special Forces; a high-powered laser to heat water with, and chemical warming packets for his gloves and boots if he needed to spend a longer time outdoors. In the nearest city, Waverly's card had paid for the snow machine currently tarped and hidden a mile south of his campsite, extra gas cans strapped to it. UNCLE had granted him a few luxuries.

Illya started awake the second time Gaby spoke. "Peril, they took Cowboy. I don't know what happened. I was asleep in my room, and they ripped him out of the bed. I think he's hurt, there's blood on the sheets. They locked me in here. Ill…Peril I hope you're reading me." Her voice was slightly garbled on the radio, but her message was unmistakable; his partners were compromised.

The team had managed a quick mission in New York once he and Solo had been out of the hospital that had gone smoothly. Solo had interrupted some local malcontents from selling illegally obtained weaponry stolen from a military base. Everyone had gotten home safely and only Solo and Gaby had been in the field, while Illya monitored his partners and several other bugs planted in the crime syndicate members homes and vehicles. That mission so far seemed the exception to the rule; they completed tasks, and the physical damage incurred was an unfortunate consequence. If Illya did not feel so much safer, “on thicker ice”, as the metaphor went, with his handler at U.N.C.L.E., he would have pleaded to return to his KGB unit. He enjoyed being with Gaby, and Solo's style, so contradictory to his own, worked marvellously where his own might have been inadequate. But the U.N.C.L.E. unit was going to ruin his record. This was the third mission, if he included Rome, where he and his team had been forced to go in with guns blazing.

Illya huffed a quick breath and dressed, throwing the large pack over his shoulders. Patting his chest, he ensured his silenced pistol was secure and his spare ammunition was easy to reach. Illya clipped Solo's UZI to his chest, and slung his own modded AR-15 over his shoulder. After Illya tucked his rapid release blade up his left sleeve, he slipped in an earpiece, and pushed the surveillance equipment still set up into a bottom pocket on the pack. Gaby's voice buzzed his ear as he began jogging to the edge of the compound, a blind corner he’d scouted when he first arrived.

"Peril, I hear them talking in the hall. Some one leaked that Solo was CIA. I don't know where they took him. They're on their radio… sending men to look around, be careful. I've got my knife."

Illya cursed. "Not the time to fight back, little girl," but she could not hear him. So far, no one was dead yet, and the men had just ignored Gaby, so the stakes were not set. Her skills at fighting had improved with a few weeks of practice, from body checks to using pressure points and quick jabs, but she was yet not prepared to handle multiple enemies. They had guns. If the criminals already had Solo under control, they would not be easy on Gaby. If she caused them trouble, she would simply be shot. Illya hoped that Gaby did not act on whatever impulse had driven her to pull the knife. If it was her life, yes, but that's why Gaby had the hidden blades.

If everything remained quiet, Illya had a better chance of sneaking in undetected to extract his partners. It was well after midnight and most of the staff would be in their bunks. Only the immediate guards around his team would need to be dealt with; the fewer the bodies, the smaller chance of alerting the whole installation. And he needed things to stay calm if he was going to pull Solo and Gaby out safely. From the sound of it, Solo had been hurt, and until Illya could establish how badly, he had to assume Solo was out for the rest of the mission. Solo's transmitter had only static, but from the last look at their trackers, he knew relatively where both of them were, unluckily at opposite ends of the compound's main building.

It was more difficult making his way through the unbroken snow, and he was aware how obvious a trail he had made right back to his campsite. With the wind, it was possible that his tracks would be blown over before they were noticed, and Illya had obscured his trail from the snow machine, the new Ski-doo model. The wind whipped at his face, and he pulled his balaclava over it before he had the chance to get cold. It was a rotten night for this.

The research facility was not a well-kept secret since almost every local knew there was something back there in the privately owned woods. As the crow flew, it was twenty-five miles north of the nearest town, a small community built up from the families of the miners and loggers that worked in the area. When Illya had come into the small Canadian town in northern Ontario, his polite manners and large tip had garnered him the attention of the matron working the restaurant that morning. She guardedly asked him what he was doing around here, maybe visiting? Illya shook his head, and said he missed the Ukraine, his former home. He had spent too much time down in Ottawa, and had gotten away for some winter camping. He bragged about his new snow machine, and wondered where he was going to store it when he was done. She had even offered to put it up for him, for a little spending money as, she had extra space in her yard. So after that was fictitiously arranged, Illya asked what the waitress meant by “up there”. And she had told him in hushed tones about the occasional passerby headed up to the building, she guessed. They were always rude, and tight-lipped, obviously rich. None of the folks in town knew who owned the land up there. Illya nodded at that, and had left soon after, with the promise of a warm meal when he returned.

Bracing against the chilled wind, Illya wished that last hot meal still warmed his belly as he dropped heavily over the wire fence that surrounded the compound. No shouts rose up at his landing since the guard on the perimeter did not watch this area in favour of standing out of the wind rather than patrolling effectively. If Illya had seen his army behaving with such inefficiency and carelessness, he would have them all on report and would have been happy to drill them himself. As an aggressor, Illya only appreciated how easy it was for him to move about, plant explosives, and plan his entry. Even as Illya observed the patterns of movement, each guard listened to their radios and scrambled, rousted from their spots.

"Peril, I think they mean to come in. What should I do?" Gaby asked, her voice tight. Illya cursed and wished he could be there, but moving faster meant sacrificing stealth. With the numbers of guards he saw outside, he needed to maintain his advantage. The Russian could too easily picture her standing there trembling. "I'm in the bedroom now." she grunted, and he could hear creaking. "The bed is in front of the door. It opens in."

"Good girl." He muttered to himself. Despite sounding flustered, she still used her head. Whispering was dangerous, as the sibilant sounds carried farther than quiet speech. "Until they unscrew door or break it. Will buy you time." Illya wished his words could carry to her.

When Illya came to the generator, he took time to ensure the demolition packs were well-placed to destroy it. He did not set a mechanism to interrupt for a select amount of time, he sabotaged it. It had been the secondary objective, assuming the original plan to quietly observe and gather data, posing as inspectors went badly. Illya had premade C4 blocks designed to respond to a radio detonator needed to dismantle the building, and ruin the prototypes inside; messy and unfortunate as the research held within was valuable.

Through the adjacent garage, Illya entered the research facility Solo and Teller had infiltrated. Racine Tech Inc. was working on producing a device producing an electrical wave that would disable all electrical technology within a specified radius. This phenomena was discovered with the testing of nuclear devices, and the scientists were trying to replicate that electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. Solo had also observed notes on how they planned to protect their own computers against an EMP. It was criminally funded, with ties to former Nazis, again playing with fissionable materials. All information had been cleverly funneled to him by his teammates asking pointed questions. Illya's own gadgets could all be affected by such a device And it could produce a large enough blast to cripple the defences of any secure headquarters, leaving them open to attack, and destroying the data held on computers.

The real inspectors had been held up in customs and then arrested by the Canadian agency when they proved suspicious. Waverly had jumped in on the operation and taken over, given the international nature of the allegations. Solo and Gaby had taken their places, and Illya had waited outside, recording what they fed him, and reported it back to Waverly.

Illya heard drilling, and a crash. Gaby spoke up defiantly. "I demand to know what you did with Mr. Gault. Our employer will not be happy with this rudeness. You can bet this will being going in my report. What are your names?" Illya nodded in appreciation of her efforts, as he set another brick of C4 into a cupboard. He ducked through a door that the hurrying guards had left open and was honing in on Gaby's location. If Solo was down for the count, Illya going to him first would only hinder his attempts to sabotage the building, and Illya's extraction of Gaby.

While the halls had been quiet thusfar, the poor illumination kept Illya on his toes. Someone dressed in dark colors could easily hide in a doorway, waiting for some unsuspecting fool to pass. The infrequent lighting in the windowless halls of the concrete building cast deep shadows. Illya used them as much as he could, but his ability to skulk was hindered with the large backpack. Noise alerted Illya as a lone scientist stepped out of another door in front of him, and the man did not even look to see who was behind. 

Through Illya's headset, he could hear the men scrambling to answer Gaby, and calm down her fury. Obviously they had not been told the whole situation, or perhaps even the criminals were not sure who had come knocking on their door. For now Gaby was safe, as long she kept them talking. She shouted orders at the men, who clearly did not believe a captive would be asking for that, as no spy was that brazen. Perhaps the men were concerned she was really Lilly Andrews.

So he was listening to Gaby, smiling, as he snapped the neck of the scientist and pushed his body back in the room. Illya scanned it quickly and locked the door with the keys he pulled out the cooling hand. He left a block of C4 there in the room that held a lot of equipment, and wall of computer terminals. On the table, laid out like a gift, was a set of blueprints for a device. Illya folded them up and tucked them in his coat. It was a good find.

Around the next corner, Illya slammed his rifle butt across the back of another guard's head, indenting it, and pushed another man in a lab coat into the wall with his left hand and crushed his throat. The man sat choking as the cartilage to his trachea bled down his ruined airway, and he sputtered.

"You will die in four minutes, like this, panicking, and in pain. You hold up fingers if you know the room number of where you are holding Mr. Gault, and I kill you instantly. Dead anyway, but nicer." The man's eyes were growing large, and red. He struggled for ten more seconds than Illya had guessed he would and held up four fingers and three on his other hand. Illya nodded, and slipped his thin blade just under the base of the skull, then wiped it on the slack, motionless body.

Illya had guessed from Solo's description that was the head scientist for the project. Since Illya was going to blow the building anyway, any man that died before he did would have a kinder end, not that that figured into his plan. He had to be as restrained as possible until he had Solo and Gaby under his guard. Solo had once joked that Illya was no good at subtlety, and while Illya had no tolerance for being assaulted, he found that he enjoyed quiet work, using his hands. One did not need to be proficient in Sambo and Judo if he continually caused firefights.

Just as Illya rounded the corner to living quarters, he had to draw his silenced pistol, and put down a group of five guards facing him, standing 20 feet away. It was bad luck, and too many bodies to hide quickly. One guard had got half a yell out before a bullet had taken him in the chest. The silenced whine echoed down the concrete corridors, and the thump of five bodies hitting the ground in quick succession attracted the notice of one man who stepped from one room whose lights were on, and the door broken open.

"What the hell?" Was the guard's response, before Illya was there and pulled him from the doorway, putting his knife up under the ribs, into his heart. He let out a gurgled moan and Illya held his body in front of himself, walking man turning into deadweight backwards as Illya entered the room. Gunshots barked, and the shield Illya had in his arms danced twice, as three more bullets whizzed past him and bounced off the concrete. Illya pushed the dead man at the source of the gunfire and pulled his pistol, putting a round in the head of the second man, who was only now drawing a weapon. Before that man fell, Illya put one more in the head of the first man trapped on the floor under his dead associate. But the last man in the room stood directly in front of Gaby. Illya took one large leap to the side, and then rushed him. Illya heard the man's gun go off, and felt burned across the corner where his neck met his shoulder, then Illya slapped the man's gun. It bounced against the wall and skittered away. Illya's other arm flashed across the man's neck, again holding the small blade. His left hand came back up and tucked the man's chin down roughly by his hair, then Illya threw the man to the side, so that the blood did not spray back on him.

Gaby had her knife held carefully in her hand. "I could have handled him." Her pupils were blown, and she was flushed. Illya enjoyed hearing her regularly accented English, as up that point she had been using a strong posh London accent, and Solo, which Illya found unnatural, even if Solo's accent was downright eerie on how accurate it was.

"I'm glad you did not have to." Illya responded, but captured her look just then as something to revisit. She was lovely.

"I'm not. He shot you and you're bleeding on your coat." She ripped her pillow case off and reached, up to staunch the flow. 

"Grazed, only. Experienced marksman would have made good shot. His grip was wrong. It was good gamble." He frowned, and pulled his balaclava away from the wound, off of his face smearing blood up into his hair. "Wrecked my jacket, maybe supplies. Hurry up and change, keep jacket unzipped for now, need to go get Solo." He turned away from Gaby after handing her the shrink-wrapped layered clothing, snow suit and boots. "Have not heard anything from Cowboy's tracker."

Illya used a bit of blackened duct tape over the holes in his jacket, and used a piece to tape gauze snugly to his neck. It was a deep gouge, but it was superficial, and did not even affect how he turned his head. He was more worried about the blood freezing, and damaging his surrounding skin on their trip back.

Gaby changed quickly into the outdoor gear Illya had packed for her. She had a pistol as well, and a few knives strapped to her. Illya guarded the door, noting with relief that no one else came. It looked like his strike had gone unremarked so far. Gaby stepped up beside him, her gun up and pointed down the hall, and Illya went back and shouldered the large bag.

"How heavy is that?" Gaby asked, as Illya did up the strap around his chest.

"About thirty-five kilograms now." Gaby shook her head, and followed him. Illya took up a point position, and led them to where he believed Solo to be held, planting more explosive charges from his jacket pockets as they went. They worked their way to a small office near the north wall, unfortunately distant from where Illya knew the garages were. And he would rather head back in one of the compound’s vehicles than pile the three of them on to the Ski-Doo.

Illya grabbed a tall man wearing a suit from around the corner where he was hidden, and quickly slammed the man’s head into his knee. The man flopped bonelessly to the ground, neck broken.

"Recognise him?" Illya said in a low voice.

Gaby mouthed no. Illya filed away the face to identify later, and slipped the dead man's wallet into a pouch in his jacket. It would be nice to learn the extent of who they were dealing with.

Illya looked around as they neared the room that Solo was likely being held in. Across from it was an office with a window. He forced the lock, and the room was empty. "Wait here. Watch my back. I can still hear you," he tapped his earbud again to turn it on, "so no need to shout."

Gaby instinctively grasped the the black pearl surrounded with small diamonds and the loud buzz of interference bounced harshly off of Illya's eardrum. One hand came up quickly to his ear. Gaby looked chastened at Illya's face pained expression. "Sorry."

"Is okay, will likely still hear you if you need me. Maybe." Illya offered her a small quirk of his lip and left her there, crouched, gun in her hand, peering through the cracks in the blinds, shielded by the concrete walls.

Illya entered the windowless room where seven heads swivelled at the sight of him. The eighth head, a messy mop of wavy black hair, did not move at all. Illya stepped up to the first man and put his knife into the man's throat, shot the last two bullets in his clip at the farthest man from him, who was moving to hide behind the still figure tied to a chair facing the back wall. Illya threw his knife into the next closest man's eye, and stepped behind the dying falling man for a bit of cover while he slapped a new magazine into the gun. Illya dropped to the floor to avoid the return fire, and his quick shots took out the rest and he replaced his magazine again.

"Not so pleased to see me this time, Cowboy?" Illya asked. The American did not move.

"Illya, two more coming up behind, and they have big guns." Illya quickly ran and stood behind the door that opened just as his back touched the concrete. Only one man entered the room. Illya grabbed him, and slammed his hand into the man's throat, kicking shut the door all in the space of a second. Gunfire opened up against the rapidly splintering door. 

Illya crouched, planning to shoot from a low position through the door, once it had broken. Solo was seated to the side of the room, and was so far out of the bullets' path.

Illya heard the twinkling of breaking glass and two high-pitched shots. The automatic gunfire ceased. "He's dead." Gaby sounded small when she said that, and Illya hurt for her. 

While Gaby had killed before, in Istanbul, she had been in the middle of an active firefight, hauling Solo over her shoulder and waiting for Illya to join them as he had separated to keep a group of targets from escaping. It was a fast-paced event, something that took consideration and conscience out of the equation. But her choices had weighed heavily later when the bullets stopped flying and she had time to reconcile her actions with the consequences. Illya had talked to her a bit about it, but it was Solo who told her of his time in the war and had eased her mind. Now, Gaby was not in immediate danger, and coldly shot a man in the back. No less necessary, but she was young, and not a hardened soldier or CIA agent like Solo, or the killer Illya was. Illya wondered if she even realized that by flipping the switch to explode the C4 charges, Illya would be murdering everyone inside at once, and not as cleanly as pulling a trigger.

Illya opened the wrecked door. "Stay there for now, hide again. I will get Solo." He looked up and caught her eyes. "Thank you." The words were inadequate to express how he felt, the pain and the bitter taste of the words on his lips, because what he really wanted to do was beg forgiveness for her soul.

Solo still had not moved when he returned. From the hands he could see tied to the arms of the chair, his color was too good to be dead, and the posture too stiff. Solo was pale, but not that greyish, orangey cast to the skin that a freshly dead man had, where it wasn’t mottled in purple blotches. Illya bent to retrieve his knife from the man twitching on the floor, and pulled it from out of the man's eye, out of his brain. The man jerked at that, and Illya neatly put the knife in at the base of his skull.

Illya's focus was on Solo. "Cowboy, can you hear me?" And as he rounded the American and began cutting his bonds, Illya winced at the way blood ran down his bare chest and stained his boxers. A discarded robe lay on the floor. Most of the blood was drying to a tacky brown, but dark red still oozed from Solo's temple. Illya grabbed some more gauze from the extra in his pocket for his own cuts and pressed the wound edges back together on Solo's head. Solo's temple was split, and Illya prayed it was not his bone as well. The man's lack of consciousness was disturbing, until he saw empty syringes on a tray balanced on Solo's lap. Illya swore. He should have left someone alive to talk.

He guessed that it was likely a combination of sedation and stimulants, something to make a man more suggestible and keep him awake, but Solo was anything but pliable. The American had a livid head wound and the drugs had been too much for him. Illya had chosen to believe that, because the alternative meant he was down a partner. Men who suffered bad head injuries were rarely the same afterwards, if they survived at all.

Illya tied the gauze to Solo's head tightly to stop the bleeding, after tenderly feeling the skull under the wound. Nothing appeared to give, or felt rough, so Illya pulled the bandage tight, and was rewarded with a moan from Solo.

Illya raised his voice slightly as he took off the pack and began pulling out the winter gear for his partner. "Gaby, I'll need your help."

Gaby came in then, warily. She took in Solo, her eyes following the blood, and reached to stroke Solo's slack face. "He's hurt badly."

"They drugged him, likely just doped up. Scalp bleeds extra. Only looks bad," Illya tried to reassure her, and himself. "But leaving him like this, more of Cowboy than I ever wanted to see." Gaby rolled her eyes and pulled out a pair of thermal underwear.

Together they dressed Solo. It was hard work, the clothes not designed to be put on by a semiconscious and entirely uncooperative man. Solo had begun to move sluggishly, pulling away from them, his lashes flickering, and he grunted. In the time it took to clothe Solo, one more guard walked in on them and Illya added him to the pile of bodies in the corner. He looked at the large pack, and swore, removing the main section, and handing it to Gaby, who groaned as she slipped the straps over her shoulders.

A sharp whine filled his ears and Illya stumbled in surprise, and tore his earpiece off. He dropped to his knees to fish out the base control unit for his surveillance equipment and was dismayed to find it dead. "So their device works," Gaby said, her voice muted in Illya's ears. He frowned and asked Gaby to repeat herself at a normal volume. Gaby glared at him and made a motion like she was pushing the air down. "Quietly, Illya." He had to read her lips to understand that.

He removed the bottom section of the pack before crushing the surveillance equipment in it with his boot. Gaby's back straightened and she said something that Illya did not catch. 

He whipped his gun up to the door, but no one was there and Gaby looked at him strangely.

"The feedback from EMP, cannot hear, ears still sound like bells." Illya admitted, and Gaby's eyes rolled as her mouth pursed. "Going to pull him onto my back. Cannot walk like this." He crouched, scooping his arms under Solo's legs, and tightly tucking Solo's arms under his own. Illya believed he could manage to drop one of Solo's legs at a time if he needed to his fire his pistol, but would have to set him down in order to use the rifle. He hoped Solo woke up soon, or stayed limp, because the thought of the man starting to thrash around during combat was frightening. As it was Illya was not comforted by the head that lay across his shoulder, forehead managing to rest on Illya's bullet wound. The American always knew where to poke him. Solo had roused a bit from the stimulation of getting into winter gear on, but now he lay somnolent in Illya's arms.

Gaby led the way, the C4 trigger in her pocket, and she planted the last of the bricks. A quick scouting foray made it clear that leaving with one of the enemy vehicles was not an option. Too many men milled around the vehicles and Illya had already planted charges among them.

"We need to go quickly and set off explosion before anyone leaves. I have escape vehicle in woods." He told Gaby to fish out the CO2 laser from his pocket, and she quickly made a large hole in the fence for Illya and Solo to slip through. She looked up sharply and Illya turned in a quick circle seeing nothing. She pulled on his sleeve. Illya bent awkwardly, trying to accommodate the shifting weight of Napoleon. Gaby spoke directly into his ear. "Illya, I heard a small engine to the south." 

Illya nodded. He dropped one of Solo's legs to hang, and the American shifted on his own, a puff of air expelling into Illya's neck. "Give me transmitter." Illya shook his hand for emphasis. "Now."

Gaby handed it to him, and he flipped the safety switch, and hit the trigger. Illya could feel the sound vibrating, surely deafening, and the building shuddered. Since the transmitter had been powered down until the safety switch was flipped, it had survived the EMP. They could not see the vehicles ignite, but the flames were spreading, and the area grew much lighter even as the power failed. Illya led the way out to where he had left his new Ski-doo, but stopped short as he noticed more tracks than just his in the fresh snow.

The guards had backtracked his own steps from his camp; they could not risk returning there. He circled widely to the east, adding an extra mile and a half to the walk. Nearly forty minutes into their march with only the moonlight reflecting of the snow to guide them, he saw fresh snowmobile tracks, and closed his eyes. That was the engine Gaby he had heard. Their only escape vehicle was stolen. They had no means of communication. Gaby stopped, noticing he had stalled, looking at him with eyes bright in the dark. She shivered. 

Solo remained restless, but not alert, and heavy on Illya's back. The wind whipped at him, and the snow continued to fall.

MFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, a whopping chapter one. It was more action focussed than previous works, hope that translated well to the readers. 
> 
> If you a have moment, tell me how it went.
> 
> nov 30, 2015. New edits and beta by rebelliousrose. Many thanks to her!


	2. By My Side

“What’s wrong.” Gaby stood again at Illya’s shoulder, pulling him down so she could talk in his ear. Illya still could only guess at what she said and the uncertainty was making him anxious. He had to rely on her to warn him about approaching danger, but she did not have the instincts cultivated by a life of constant danger and paranoia. Despite her two year involvement with Waverly, she had no real experience being in the field, or being hunted.

The ringing in Illya’s ears was giving him a headache, and it reminded him of the sensation of being too close to a gunshot in a crowded room. His head was beginning to pound miserably, poor sleep doubtlessly contributing. It seemed to radiate up his neck, from the chunk missing from the curve of his shoulder, from an ill placed bullet. That had bled again, repeatedly traumatized by the bouncing head of the American. Solo’s weight was not getting any lighter, and the American Illya still carried on his back moved and stretched randomly, no doubt trying to wake up battling whatever cocktail Solo’s captors had given him. It made him difficult to carry. 

Illya did not want to guess at the shape the American would be in when those drugs wore off. Illya could only hope the head injury Solo sustained was superficial in nature, and the American would be able to carry his own weight. Illya’s traitorous mind asked him what he would do if Solo did not wake up at all. He could not imagine having that conversation with Gaby, if he could indeed carry Solo far enough to get help. And he would do anything to prevent her from being disappointed in him, least of all he would carry a dead man for that. 

As it stood, Gaby was breathing hard, he could see puffs of air freezing in the night coming too fast from her. She had been walking next to him, creating an obvious trace through sometimes knee deep snow. It was a mistake on Illya’s part. They would have to walk in single file, and if Illya broke trail, it would be somewhat easier for her. And while she had worked as a mechanic for years and had physical strength to do such labour, she now wore a twenty five kilogram bag, on straps designed to fit Illya. But if they left that kit behind, and had to remain in the woods for more than the next day, Illya would have difficult time keeping everyone alive and away from pursuit. 

A short message to Waverly indicating he was going in the laboratory, and his team was captured was all he had time to send before the EMP burst had destroyed his equipment. Illya wondered if the remaining members of the Racine group had anything functional. As it stood, Illya’s chances on signalling for help relied upon either finding the enemy with a working device, or heading back towards a settlement. This scenario was one he dealt with before, and he believed he could make the remaining twenty four miles back to town in the next day, if he pushed hard. But that was if he was alone, not carrying his team, and responsible for protecting Gaby. Solo would likely be in no condition to fight even if he woke up. 

Illya weighed his options and brought up the map he memorised in his mind’s eye. There was another private property that bordered the land owned by the Racine group. But the map Illya had did not mention if it had been developed. It was only 10 miles to the west and the terrain would be easier to manage. It was also not likely a spot that any pursuers would bother investigate, as it was unlikely that they would guess their false inspectors would flee there. The town was twice the distance and had poor terrain, and if their enemies bothered to pursue the fleeing team, the Racine soldiers would comb the south. While going down the road would be easier to manage, it would also leave them exposed. And there was a river in five miles to cross. Illya knew a likely spot to be recaptured would be ahead of that bridge. It was a bottleneck, a strategy too obvious to miss. And the walk south after the river would be difficult as the land also became hilly, and sloped upwards. 

Waverly may come through with an aerial extraction; however, Illya could not afford to stay in open areas where they may be spotted by enemy guards either, and with no way to signal Waverly that they were indeed alive, the British man may just written off his agents.

Any plan depended on establishing if they had pursuit. The trio had no chance of escape if they continued to be so utterly traceable in the snow. But even as Illya turned around, breaking Gaby’s hold, the blowing wind, had erased any trace of their passage as little as twenty meters away. And the snowmobile tracks he had seen, all but vanished were likely not old either. 

Illya turned and looked at Gaby. All he could see was her dark eyes in the moonlight, and her lashes glinting with tiny bits of ice formed with her breath. A neck warmer was pulled over the hole in her mask for her mouth. She was hunched over slightly, holding the pack straps in her gloved hands. 

“Gaby, from now on walk behind me. If you hear something, push me. The Ski-Doo I left made these tracks. They had no vehicles like this. With radio dead, we need to find one, or make it back to people.” Illya told her in what he hoped was a quiet voice. He thought she said something, because her hands let go of the straps and pushed out to her sides. “Closest property owned by civilian is ten miles west. I don’t know if buildings there or not. Town is farther south.” She looked at the compass sewn in her jacket sleeve and pointed south. 

“If they are following, we might not make it that far.” Illya cautioned, and she pointed south again, and waved at him to go. Illya nodded. “It will be a long walk, let me know if you need a break, but for now we push hard.” He looked at Gaby critically, and a thought crossed his mind. “If you feel warm, start unzipping layers.” His own outer coat was undone despite the deadly chill in the air. “If you sweat through your clothes, you will freeze to death. Sweating can be very dangerous.”

To his dismay, she ripped down the zipper on her coat, and her vest. Illya thought of how much of a fool he was. Gaby would not know even the basics. “If you feel chilled do it back up. And don’t eat snow. Too much energy from body to melt it. We have water insulated in back pack for now.” Gaby nodded dutifully. 

“We walk for now when wind blows to cover our tracks. If we get far enough away from base, maybe they won’t find our trail. No breaks for now.” 

Illya trudged through the snow, weaving for areas with shorter drifts, and caught his feet on obstacles unseen. He kept a tight grip on Solo who was still dreaming his breath puffing out evenly. The American moved more strongly now, and Illya wondered if it was a sign of wakefulness. Illya found himself feeling achy and tired, the effort of keeping the American in place worse for the poor footing. Illya desperately hoped Solo would not vomit or piss himself under the effects of the drugs or head injury. That would freeze them both. If he did not wake soon, Illya would have to stop and prepare for that eventuality, something he did not cherish. As it was, even dressed warmly, Solo was not walking himself, generated no extra heat, and one’s body temperature dropped as one slept. Solo may become hypothermic by virtue of his condition, and Illya would not be able to tell. And Illya’s ankle recently injured began to send sharp reminders that it was been treated unfairly. Illya just gritted his teeth, and pushed his hands farther under the American’s thighs, boosting him higher once more. 

The ringing in Illya’s ears was fading, but it was hard to judge how well he was doing through the howl of the wind through the fir trees. He saw no one ahead, and turning to check revealed no lights behind them. It would be impossible to pick up their tracks in the dark from a distance, as blown in as they were with the fresh powdery snow. And the snowmobile made plenty of noise, a noise that Gaby had not heard in hours. It was unlikely they were being pursued. 

When Illya turned from time to time, Gaby still was behind him, her breath still crystalizing in front of her face. But she was getting farther and farther behind. Two hours had past. And Illya doubted if they had made four miles. It was not good start. The last time Illya had turned to look at her, he planned to stop and make her and himself eat. He had thick bars of rations in his inner pocket. But he saw her eyes widen, and she pointed to their right. After a few breaths, Illya saw a light bouncing through the trees, a large light. His snowmobile. 

Illya turned and moved as quick as he could making tracks to several large trees and deposited Solo, and left Gaby to wait. He made a few more confusing tracks, before pressing himself up to the base of a large tree. And he waited near his teammates. If there was one man on the vehicle, he could make the shot, and retrieve it. A single gunshot was hard to pinpoint, another safe gamble he would make. 

Illya pressed the scope of his AR-15 to his eye, the rifle butt securely tucked to his shoulder, and he tried to track the movement through the trees. The blur of objects too close to him, made it difficult to focus. He counted two men riding his vehicle. And then he noticed it circled back staying with a group of another five men on foot. All the men had rifles, and two also had machine guns. They looked around each with their own flash lights. And they were walking on the road. 

Illya cursed, he had turned them too much, and gotten too close to the road. It was a foolish mistake, weaving too much to avoid the deeper snow. He guessed the men were headed for the bridge. Illya glanced back to where Solo and Gaby hunkered down in the shadows of low hanging branches of a pine tree. Solo was leaned up against the trunk like a dead man. 

If he could chance leaving them alone, he may be able to get his snowmobile back, and see if they had a radio. Seven against one taken by surprise was better odds than he hoped for. Illya had plenty of cover to move in and his black silhouette against a tree trunk would be hard to make out in the dark. He could pick off the two on the snowmobile first, and spray the rest with AR-15’s automatic fire, and move a little closer, and finish the rest with Solo’s Uzi. 

Illya was a breath away from leaving, but that was when Solo started shouting. Even Illya heard the foul and frightened yells were coming from where he had left his comrades. Solo was pushing Gaby away, thrashing wildly. All of the lights flared in his direction and the men started moving through the brush. Illya timed his step, and was at moment crouched in front of the American. Solo stared back unseeing, or perhaps remember the man who had nearly choked him to death in bathroom in West Berlin. “Don’t, don’t. Stop, leave me alone. Stop.” Illya sat across his knees and lifted one hand up to cup Solo’s ear. His other arm, extended out to the side, and he warmed up his swing, and caught delirious American with the Kiss. Solo slumped, and Gaby was there. Illya caught her before she could touch Solo. “He will be okay, don’t touch, maybe will wake him up. I will keep the men away from you both.” 

And Illya left her crouched beside the American, and felt her confusion and her concern for their comrade. He looked one last time at her, her gun in her hand, glinting in the moonlight, and he turned to face the onslaught. And the beam of the Ski-Doo caught Illya in the eyes, and destroyed his night vision. Illya stared dumbly, blindly ahead, as he retreated around the base of the tree trunk. Gunfire filled the forest.

The shot must have been sprayed wildly, Illya thought. Illya remained unhit as the gunfire continued and he slouched behind his tree with his eyes closed trying to get rid of the red dot spotting his vision. Bark chipped away close enough to his face that Illya felt splitters hit him. And he dropped low, and blinked sharply. He could see well enough to tell where the beams from the flashlights were held. Holding a flashlight made you an obvious target, which was why he had forbade Gaby from using hers for now. But once he fired his gun, his enemies would know exactly where to shoot, the muzzle flash would give him away in an instant. He best move quickly then. 

Illya raised his scope, and a bullet plucked the man driving the Ski-Doo up and off. The machine continued on until it hit a tree, but the other man scooted forward and took control. But Illya missed this as he dove and rolled through the snow coming up behind another tree. 

“Over there. Look!” As Illya predicted, the flashlights all focussed on where he had just stood. He slipped farther to his side, away from his partners and took a shot, this time at a man with a radio held to his ear. Illya could not risk damaging it, so he dropped his shot to land in the middle of his target’s chest. The man collapsed, and the radio dropped into the snow. 

Illya was already running continuing to flank the men, but this time he felt a few bullets whiz past him. He stopped and hid in a clump of trees. The shots started to scatter around, they could not pinpoint him. Illya held the warm barrel of his gun against himself, and snuck forward. The lights were still searching for him. If his enemies got close enough to track him, Illya planned to be a few steps ahead of them. Or behind them, as he decided. He tried to move soundlessly through the night, but the now quieter ringing in his ears still may be hiding much. The men pressed forward, more carefully, staying close to trees, staying undercover. Or they would be, if Illya had not timed his flight between the beams of light. He came up behind the last man of the bunch who turned to look at the soft crunch of old snow. And Illya punched into the man’s throat, the first two knuckles of his hand extended and ripped his prey’s gun away. Illya grabbed the chin and shoulder of the silenced man, and broke his neck letting the body down slowly. Illya glanced around, unobserved and moved to where he had dropped the second man. The radio lay in the snow like a prize. He scooped it up. And noticed the dying man at his feet raise a side arm. The single gunshot rang loudly in the dark. 

Illya stumbled, and fell away from the shot. Three flash lights shone back at him and Illya heard the rev of engine. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees. A twinge of pain came from his knee. He pushed himself to a low crouch, against his protesting joint, reading himself to spring away. The whine of silenced pistol shot embedded itself in the bark near one of men’s heads. And second shot clipped the man in the arm. He staggered as the men turned and ran. Illya heard shouting, panicked words as they realised they had been flanked. They fled towards the road with the injured man sitting astride the Ski-Doo as it roared away. The remaining men sprayed bullets into the woods, coming dangerously close to where Illya squatted down in the snow. Illya raised his own rifle again, and a round caught a retreating figure in the throat. 

Illya pushed himself up and tried not to limp towards where he saw the flash of the pistol. He came up to Gaby, and surprised her, she raised the gun at him. Illya moved quickly then and pulled her gun out of her grip. “Easy Little Chop Shop Girl. It’s me.” He stroked her face with glove, else he tried to, her own ski mask was in the way. But she leaned into him. “What happened with Solo? Are either of you hit?” 

Gaby tilted her head at him. “Am I hit? I heard a gunshot, and I saw you fall, Illya. And you’re limping.” She crouched trying to look at his covered leg. 

“Got out of way. Just tripped on something under snow. I’m okay. But you and Solo?” Illya pulled Gaby to her feet. 

“So now you can hear me, or were you teasing me before, pretending to be deaf.” Gaby asked with a pout in her tone, and Illya could imagine it clearly on her face. He wished he had thought of that himself, pretending to be deaf so she would come closer to him. 

“It’s getting better, but you will still be my ears for now.” And it was true, Illya found himself relying on her instead surrounding himself in familiar isolation. It was an odd dependency, something he did not try and cultivate in his career, but now had two people had trusted. 

“I’m okay, but Solo is still unconscious. You hit him in the head, he was already hurt!” Gaby’s voice rang with anger, and she was scared.

“It should be okay, is KGB technique, only interrupts mind.” And Illya watch her eyebrow’s furrow. Illya let out a sigh. “You checked pulse afterward?” She nodded. “He will be fine, but we need to move quickly, the men were headed up the road to the bridge. We won’t be able to cross there.” 

Gaby looked at him in confusion. “What are we going to then?”

“Across the river. They won’t believe we will be able to. And they will waste time looking here on this side. Snow is still falling, wind is blowing, and it will hide all traces.” Illya was already heading to Solo, the man slumped awkwardly in the snow. 

Illya pulled the radio he had stolen from the dying man, and fiddled with the dials. It was short range transmitter only, and full of snow. Illya brushed off as much as he could, and tried to tune into the frequency he had spoken on with Waverly. “Peril here, we need medical extraction now. Mission successful on primary and secondary objectives. Over.” And he waited. If someone with Waverly was in the area, they would answer. The transmitter was not powerful enough to reach back to Ottawa, but it was worth a try. Illya repeat himself twice, adjusting up and down a touch, but received no response. He would have to try again later.

“No one is coming for us?” Gaby asked after Illya placed the radio into his jacket pocket. 

“Waverly knows I went in to pull you out. He’ll send someone.” Illya said with more confidence then he felt. The KGB if they lost contact with their operative, and this kind of threat, would send bombers, if it would not be an act of war. But he kept that scenario to himself. 

“This would be great time for some help Cowboy,” Illya grunted as he crouched in front of the man and pulled Solo’s arms over his shoulders. Illya hoped that they would not dislocate with the stress on the lax joints. He felt Gaby push as Illya bent over feeling the strain on his back, as he scooped up Solo’s legs. The extra weight only aggravated his sore knee and ankle. Fortunately the limps balanced each other out on opposite legs. Gaby came up behind him, the large pack in place. 

“Hurry up behind me, but grab something to eat from your left upper pocket. We can’t stop, but you need to eat more in the cold.” Illya waved her along, and jogged through the snow. She followed dutifully behind him. He did not eat himself, it would not settle long if he needed to do what he thought he would. 

“River is narrower at one point, terrain maps show is shallower here as well.” He told her as they made their way. The snow was mercifully only past their ankles when they worked their way down a slope. The trees grew thinner as they went, making Illya feel increasingly paranoid. Smaller scrub bushes dotted the hillside. Illya almost went sliding down the hill, feeling increasingly top heavy. 

“Careful Gaby,” and to his chagrin, he saw her stumble and then roll all the way down. She shouted once, but was her cry cut off suddenly. Illya carefully picked a path down, following a fresh deer trail. The buck had likely been spooked by the gunfire, and the hill was sheltered from the wind. Their tracks would be easier to find here. Illya came up to her, still laying in the snow with her eyes closed. He felt a rush of anxiety, if she was hurt, he did not know how he was going to manage. “Gaby.” 

With her name she roused and pushed herself up, she appeared unharmed. “You should try that sometime. But without the pack.” Illya only blinked, feeling betrayed and uneasy. “Illya, I’m fine. And it was a nice break waiting for you to come down.” 

All he could do was shake his head. “You’re covered in snow. If it melts on you, you’ll freeze. You left a big trail. Brush yourself off.” 

“I did not do that on purpose. But it was fun.” She said in that some tone of voice she had used in Rome trying to get him dance. 

“Fun. I’m glad you’re having fun.” He turned away from, and tried to remember it had been a long night, and she was young. “Well let’s go, should not be too much farther.” Illya stalked ahead.

“No, no, no, you wait a minute.” Gaby said, too loudly. “I have had terrible night too. You don’t get to be angry at me.” 

Illya felt tired, and small, and he turned back to her. She was visibly trembling, and he had a sudden vision of her again, standing in front of the broken window, the barrel of her gun still smoking, as man slumped to the ground. “Gaby.” He said, wondering how soothe her. His voice sounded broken, rough. And he felt that too, the last think he wanted was make her upset. 

“That was not an apology.” Gaby stated. But she stopped and titled her head. “I can hear it.” Gaby said. And Illya turned, raising his pistol, as Solo dangled precariously from his back and Illya wished for more cover. “No Illya, the river.” 

He holstered his gun, and blew out a quiet breath of relief. They broke through a bunch of willows, and Illya stopped at the bank, and noticed it was little more than six meters across. And it would likely only go up to his thighs. “Good, more like a brook.” 

“It is not frozen over.” Gaby said. “Illya, how am I supposed to get across, if you think I can hop that puddle, you’re crazy.” 

Illya set Solo down. The American moaned and turned onto his side. His hands came up to his head, and he retched. Illya was down by Solo’s side immediately and pulled up the mask. Solo continued to retch, but nothing came out. “Easy Cowboy.” And he pulled off his glove, finger instantly going cold. He felt Solo’s pulse, it was a little fast, but no dangerously so, and it remained even. He left the man on his side, his face cushioned from the snow with his hood pulled up. He left the balaclava folded up over his nose and it bunched oddly on the American’s eyes, but it would not choke him if he did vomit. Coming down from some of the drugs used for interrogation, and head injuries often made for a violent recovery. 

“Illya, what are we going to do? Do we have a raft in here?” Gaby took the opportunity to slip the large pack off her shoulder. 

“Unfortunately, no. I will carry you both across.” Illya said, and picked up the pack and threw it to the other side. 

“Illya be serious, that water is colder than ice.” Gaby frowned. And Illya unbuckled the guns from himself, did up the pockets on his chest, unzipped his snow suit and let it drop to the ground around his feet. 

“I have done some like this before in training. If they don’t realise we crossed river, we will have some time to rest.” He smiled reassuringly at her, and knew she could not tell through the mask.

“The KGB made you swim in freezing rivers.” Gaby asked disbelievingly.

“No Russian Special Forces. And I won’t need to swim here. Just make two trips, you and Cowboy.” And he unbuckled his combat fatigues, and pushed them down as well as the layers of thermal underwear he had on. Gaby turned around incredulously. 

“Throw the gun’s across, please.” Illya asked, dreading the next step. When Gaby did so, he bent down and pulled one of his feet from his boot, and pulled off his socks. Stepping his bare foot in the snow made it feel as though it was being burned. He soon did the other foot, moving fast now that he was exposed to the elements. The shorter time he was undressed, the better. Illya bundled up his discarded clothing and handed it to Gaby. “Will take you across first. You will have to help me once we are across, pull towel out of backpack as soon as I set you down. I will be okay for a little bit, but we need to get well into treeline, and set up camp. Then all get into tent together to warm up. Solo is too cold, you too probably. I will help, but might now do so good after a while.” 

“Do so well.” Gaby said softly. And looked down at his pale legs reddening in the wind. “Illya, what does that mean?” 

“May start to act irrationally, drunk, should not sleep unless I am coherent.” And he scooped her up to his chest and took a large step into the water. 

His breath caught in his throat, and against his will he jumped as if electrocuted. He could barely feel his feet on the rocks, and hoped it was just smooth river stones he stepped on. If he cut the soles, he doubted it would even bleed. Gaby used her arm around his neck to grab his shirt and pull on the collar. “Illya, move.” And he did, walking through the water that crept up higher than he guessed, and his undergarments got wet. It was more than uncomfortably cold, painfully so. But despite the current still edging him sideways, he walked across, and felt the chill wind tear at him more as he rose out of the water, his heart thundered in his chest. He sat Gaby down, and she looked at him, up and down, and started scrambling getting out a towel, and getting his clothes ready. He hunched over himself, and walked carefully back in, so he did not slip. Illya scooped up Solo, who was rousing, moaning pitifully on the ground. Illya took a deep breath and slipped back through the river, the water feeling warmer than the air that bit at him. He shivered so deeply, he almost dropped Solo at the far river’s edge. He set the man down as gently as he could, suddenly Gaby was there with the towel, briskly wiping the water off of him. She looked at the wet garments, protecting his modesty. 

“Those need to come off.” Gaby said quietly, but firmly. Illya could only nod, he reached down to help her, but his hands shook, not with rage, but spastically. Cold blood mixing with the warm blood in his body, was putting him into shock. The blood returning from his legs felt more than uncomfortable like a burning sting of fire ants. Gaby shrugged then, and ripped down his briefs. He tried to dry himself there too, but he would have dropped the towel, if not for her. She set the towel down on the river back, “Step on that and I will get your clothes.” She helped him into two layers that felt heavenly and his snow suit, which she zipped to his chin. She stuffed the rest in the top of the backpack, she let him balance on her shoulder as she slipped the boots on his feet, and she tied them for him. 

Gaby pulled on his arm, and he tried to steady himself. “Illya can you grab Napoleon.” 

“Only my mother calls me Napoleon.” The American picked his head up from the ground, and let it flop back down. The answer though slurred and inappropriate as a response, held some of Solo’s charm, and it was reassuring. 

Gaby grabbed Solo’s arms and pulled him up sitting, and Illya struggled to crouch on cramping muscles in his legs. Illya and Gaby maneuvered Solo on his back once again. The American was moaning now, and tried to bring on of his arm’s away from Illya’s tight pinch hold him in place. “Cowboy be still.” Illya snapped, and tried to keep up with Gaby. His legs hurt, and they moved too stiffly for Illya to be graceful. Gaby worked her way up the hillside, and turned to make sure he followed. Illya just wished that his shivering would not make it so hard to keep a good grip. 

“I’m getting a pony ride.” Solo said in his ear. 

“Cowboy, if you’re awake, you can walk yourself.” Illya threatened, though he knew Solo still did not sound like himself. “I may call you Cowboy, but I’m not Silver, and you’re no Lone Ranger.” 

“I am not feeling well.” Solo announced. Illya braced himself for whatever that meant, but thankfully Solo’s stomach stayed settled. Illya stumbled then, and noticed he was at the precipice of the ridge. Gaby waived him on.

“Come on Illya, just a little farther.” Gaby was breaking trail now, trying to drag her boots in the snow. She was turning away and angled downriver. 

“What are we doing? Too loud. My head is pounding.” Solo was starting to talk again, and he succeeded in pulling an arm from Illya’s grip. Solo lifted his head up, groaned and laid against the small of Illya’s back. “Peril, where are we?” The American wrapped his arm around Illya’s shoulder, and squeezed himself to the Russian. 

“Where are you going,” Illya called to her his voice shaking because Gaby had made a sudden turn. Illya knew he was starting to flag, but he kept himself moving. He was having trouble concentrating on walking, and it was tempting to stop and curl up into a ball. 

“The trees are thicker over there. And it’s away from where we crossed. They won’t be able to see us from there.” Gaby answered, and Illya approved, it was a sound idea. And things were starting to feel better, his legs were numb, as he plodded after her. 

“Good thinking,” Illya was starting to feel warm. He was no longer shivering. 

Illya did not notice when she stopped, and walked into her. “Hey, what. Illya, look at me.” Gaby pushed him. Illya gazed down at her, trying to focus his eyes. Solo picked up his head again. 

“God. Its cold out. Why are we out here?” Solo freed his other hand and rubbed at his face, not expecting the heavy gloves covering his hands. 

“I need to set up the tent, and you need to tell me a story.” Gaby said, and let the pack drop to the ground. Illya nodded dumbly, his fingers relaxing on whatever he gripped. He vaguely registered Solo hitting the ground behind him. 

“Peril, why.” Illya heard the American ask.

“Are you with us, Solo?” Illya just stood awkwardly there, feeling sore, and too warm. “Just rest there, I’ll get everything ready, and we’ll get you inside.” Gaby looked at Illya, and to Solo, and he tried to follow her gaze, but was feeling unwell, the world shifting around beneath him. 

I want to know about your family, Illya. You obviously care about your father, and you know I did not have mine.” Gaby said, and she pulled everything from the pack. She frowned at a small individual bundle. She pulled it out and shook. It popped away from her into shape of a small tent. She found a metal tines, and began hammering it to the ground. 

“Gaby, what’s going on? I feel like I was run over by a large train, or I went ten rounds with the Russian. Then I apparently decided to join the Polar Bear Club.” Solo asked and he pushed himself to his knees. His tirade was interrupted with the sound of him retching. “God what did I drink.” He gripped his head, then and hung it low, staying on all fours. Illya tried to turn to him, and his knees disappeared. He sat in the snow then too. 

“Solo, someone figured out you were CIA. Illya got us out. You got hit in the head, and they drugged you too I think. We are trying to get away. Illya had to carry us through a river, and he’s too cold.” Gaby answered. “Illya start talking to me, you’re scaring me.” 

Illya blinked. “Oh, sorry.” His voice sounded tremulous. “You said my family, father. Father’s dead. He died a year ago. Mother said there would be no funeral. Not for prisoners, burnt him, ground too frozen in Siberia for a grave. But it’s not fair. Father was good. He loved me. Gave us everything.” Illya slipped to his knees then. “Mother had a few of his friends over. I grabbed bottle of vodka from them, and I drank it all, and hid from them. I don’t like when they touch me.” 

“Peril, it’s okay. Stop.” He heard someone male say something, but Gaby asked him to talk, so he continued. 

“I woke up so ill. But she never noticed. She was busy bent over for father’s friends. And she made these noises, how could she sound like this. She told me not to drink, that I drank too much for a child. But I’m not child, I’m man of house. I’m not child anymore. They let me sign up for army. Let me into special forces junior group, because I was so tall, and so fast. I almost killed Dmitri in tryouts, and they just smiled, and told me how well I did. Dmitri won’t let me come to his house anymore when mother has father’s friends. And they discharged him from army, won’t every walk right again.” And Illya felt someone grab his chin. 

Solo was in his face. “Illya stop. Stop.” 

And Gaby was putting the sleeping bags into the tent, with the water jugs, and few small cases, and did not look back at them. Illya heard make a noise that may have been a sob. She looked back over to him. Her eyes were red. But that did not make any sense. “Gaby told me to talk.” Illya answered. 

Solo closed his eyes. “My head hurts too much already, are things ready yet?” Solo pulled off his gloves with his teeth. “Gaby strip down to the essentials and crawl in, warm it up for us.” 

Illya’s hands pushed Solo away from him. “Niet. Don’t touch her. She’s not yours.” 

“Illya, I do not have the physical or mental fortitude to argue with you. So either you come along like a good Russian, and get rid of you snow suit. Or, I leave you out here like a Popsicle.” And as Solo said this, he unzipped Illya’s suit and pulled it from his shoulders, and down. He pushed his shirt up, and Illya felt better, his clothes were too warm. Illya pulled it his feet out his boots and stepped into the snow. 

Solo watched, horrified. “Gaby call him to you, and keep him in there.” 

“Illya, please come here.” She poked her head out of the tent flap and he took two steps, and then crawled inside. It was tiny. Gaby pulled him down, and made him lay down, she wrapped a stifling hot blanket around him. “Solo, are you coming?” She sounded worried. 

“Got little lightheaded when I tried to stand up. Give me a minute.” Solo answered. And Illya heard the sound of someone getting sick. Illya gagged too. 

“Solo hurry, before you freeze to death out there.” Gaby chastised him. Illya saw him enter then, bringing his Uzi with him, and Gaby zipped up the tent. “Could you eat something? Illya said that you need to eat more in the cold.” 

“No, it would be a waste, and terrible smell if I did not make it out of the tent in time.” He looked very pale and shuffled down to lay even with Illya. Gaby still crouched unsurely, dressed only in her shift. Illya could see the details of her figure clearly. 

“Smoothly done. Uh, that’s not very gentlemanly.” Solo said. And Illya wondered what he meant. Gaby had a deeper frown, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You will have to excuse the Red Peril.” Gaby shivered, and dove down to Illya’s other side. They each pulled up close to him, and he felt his breath coming in short. They were far too close, and he was warm. 

“This is really going to help?” Gaby asked, “Because if this just you trying to be forward.” 

“This is what SERS training told us anyway, though I am not sure how we are supposed to prevent ourselves from getting hypothermic by touching him. How did this happen? There was a river?” Solo said. 

“Can you remember? Illya carried us across. He said he’d be okay, that he’s done this before.” She turned to lay most of her body across his chest. Illya was beginning to feel panicked. “He’s shaking.” Illya wanted to tell them to back up, he was too hot, and felt too small. 

His heart thudded in his chest, and he felt lightheaded. “Good, he’ll start generating heat then. Peril, if I have to stay awake, you do too. Gaby be careful not to move too quickly. The cold can stop someone’s heart if they get jostled.” 

“What do we do then?” Illya heard a feminine voice demand, as his eyes drifted shut. “Illya, please look at me, please. You told me to keep you awake.” And she draped a leg over his, and the pins and needles poking into him made him gasp aloud. 

“It hurts.” He moaned and tears crept to the corners of his eyes. 

“What did he say?” The woman asked. She had a nice voice, but she was worried. 

A foreign male answered and Illya tried to back away, because it was too close. “I imagine warming up is a very painful process.”

“It’s okay, Illya. We’re helping you.” The women said, and stroked his hair. This was not his mother, and he could not imagine another women wanting to touch him. 

“I found plans for EMP in Peril’s jacket. All I can remember is going to bed.” The man said.

“I’ve told you a bit already, Solo… Illya got us out, he had to carry you. And he destroyed the building.”

“Perfect, I missed all the excitement then.”

“They must have set off one of the devices, because Illya’s radio stopped working.”

“Illya lost his toys. That must have been irritating.”

“You should have seen him Solo. He killed so many people. I guess we killed so many people.” The women said, very softly, and she tucked her face into his shoulder. It felt right. 

“Gaby, are you …”

“No. Not really. But he was going to kill you and Illya. And again in the forest. How is it fair? I hope what we found is worth this.”

“Those plans will save lives. And no one working at Racine could have walked around with their eyes closed. They weren’t innocent.”

“He’s bleeding again.” 

“Peril’s hurt?”

“He was shot, he said it was just graze.” 

“It doesn’t look too bad. I’m sure he’s had worse. Just put some pressure on it. I think I’m starting to warm up.”

“Solo, are you okay?”

“I think the cumulative hangover may kill me.”

“Do you need something? The first aid kit is here.”

“No, stay put. I’m having trouble focussing, everything still feels like a dream. My head’s splitting, but I doubt further polypharmacy is going to help.”

“Come closer, Illya’s lips are still blue.”

The man moved slowly, and pressed closer to him. The pain was unbearable, and Illya let go. Everything disappeared. 

MFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone left such supportive reviews over the last couple days. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. A little action, little drama, and some snuggling. But more on that next time. 
> 
> Please let me know what you’re thinking, if you have moment. It was a long chapter to edit, so let me know, if there are issues for me to fix. I had a bit of headache this time trying to read. 
> 
> But seriously, you guys are awesome!


	3. Breakdown

Illya felt something very warm prodding his neck. It dug around and finally rested next to his Adam’s apple. The pressure was uncomfortable, and he swallowed against it. He wanted to raise his hand to bat it away, but when he tried, his arm was constricted, and the slight movement made it burn and tingle with such ferocity, he let a moan escape. 

“How is it?” Illya could hear someone talking, but it made no sense.

“Slow, steady.” A female voice answered, still in that garbled speech. He could not understand what they said, but the sound was familiar.

“What else is in that bag? Do we have more gauze? We should pack it between his toes to keep them dry, so the skin doesn’t rub. Keep the skin from sloughing off if it’s damaged.” The male voice said. Illya could feel someone touching his feet, and he kicked, a weak effort, the force of his heel hitting the cushion underneath him shaking him with renewed pain. They were trying to set him on fire, but the voices did not sound malicious, and the touch on his throat had been tender. He could hear them bustling about, and he tried to go back to sleep. It hurt less than before. He was giving up, but he could not move, and the simplest of motions were excruciating. 

“What are these?”

“Peril has chemical warmers. Rip the foil off, it might take them twenty minutes to get going. Pack them on his groin, armpits, and the sides of his neck. Did you get enough cushioning under us?” The feeling of the rough fabric scratched at him, and new objects roused him. He opened his eyes to glare at his torturers, but his vision was blurry and the tent was dark. 

“Solo, you’re shivering badly too, take a couple for yourself. And yes, we’re sitting on all our extra dry clothing, and one of the sleeping bags. It was the best I could do.” The voice paused, and the tone became higher pitched, syrupy. “Illya, are you there? You told me to keep you awake, and then you went to sleep on me.” He heard his name, and deduced he must have been captured. Had his handlers finally cut him loose, exposed him, and orchestrated his removal and torture? Because the pain he was feeling was only getting worse as time passed, and he was sure he would be permanently disfigured. “Solo, here is the gauze. Does the frostbite look serious?” 

The man at his feet did something then that made hot waves of pain strike him from his extremities. “Can’t tell yet, at least they aren’t black, but they may blister. Peril, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m trying to help.” There was that word again, Peril. It sounded like a name. 

“Solo, slow down, take a breath.” 

He heard something low, a groan. “I’ll be fine, Gaby.” That name relieved Illya, and twisted his heart all in one. His Gaby was here.

“Solo, lie down. You’ve done enough. You’re too pale.” The man moved closer to Illya, far too close for a stranger. It must be the American, Cowboy. 

“ I should have remembered this before, I don’t know what I was thinking.” The Cowboy sounded distressed. 

“It’s hardly your fault, I’m just glad that I didn’t have to figure out a way to drag you in here.”

“It would have gotten snow everywhere.”

“No, when they took you, and I heard them say you were CIA, I was not even sure we’d find you alive.” 

The English filtered through his brain, translating slowly. It was his team, although he wasn’t sure why they were inflicting pain on him, and had him restrained. He wondered if he had lost his temper, and they had knocked him out. 

“Well I’m glad you did. For what it’s worth, thank you. I’m guessing it wasn’t easy.” Cowboy said. 

“You started yelling during a firefight. Illya Kissed you.”

“Excuse me?”

“That KGB move, where one hits someone in the temple and does not allow the head to rebound.”

“Doesn’t sound so complicated. Take years to master, I’m sure…..” 

“Do you feel better, Solo? A little color is coming back to your face now that you’re lying down.” 

“Lying down is a vast improvement, and I can’t think of much else to do for Illya. At least he was not unconscious. Odd are poor if that happened. Lying here with him is like embracing a slab of refrigerated beef.” 

“And to think, you spent the better part of the night unconscious.” Gaby retorted. 

“I think they drugged me.”

“You can remember?”

“A little bit, I’m sure more will come back. Gaby, I left you alone with them. I’m sorry for that. Did they hurt you?” The Cowboy’s voice was honest, sad. 

“No, I’m not hurt. Illya saved me before they could do anything, and they weren’t sure who I was.” Gaby sounded upset. 

“What’s wrong?” Solo asked, and Illya strained to move, to look at her, keep his eyes open, but he felt so powerless, and helpless. 

“Shush, Illya. We’ve got you.” Her fingers stroked against his forehead. “You’re okay, I’m sorry it hurts, but we can’t give you anything to swallow yet. We’ll get you something later.” He could not understand all of her words, but the unhurried stroking of her hand on his face was the one touch that did not shoot spikes of pain to his heart.  
“You are going to think I’m being a woman, and weak.” Her tone was different now, distressed, and he tried to push against her hand. 

“I always think of you as a woman,” Solo said, “and you’re too beautiful to pretend otherwise, but obviously something’s bothering you.” 

“I shot a man in the back. He did not see me, and I murdered him. I was worried about Illya and you, but I was angry too.”

“You were defending your country, and protecting your team.” 

“I shot him in the back.” Gaby wailed.

“And he might have shot Illya in his front, and then we three would have died there together. The Racine group would have put us in shallow graves, if they buried us at all.”

“How do you do this, how does Illya do it? I see now why you refused to shoot Illya that night when he was grabbing my car in East Berlin.” 

“It was a good thing he wanted you alive. And he still wants you alive. So consider it like this; you do what you need do to protect your country, the world, and the three of us.” 

“Illya’s shivering again.”

“Tough man, our Peril. I didn’t know Russians could even get hypothermia. I believed they had anti-freeze instead of blood.” Illya thought he heard fondness in the Cowboy’s tone, but he might have hallucinated. 

His partners continued to talk about lighter things, lulling him back to sleep.

MFU

The ringing in Illya’s ears had all but faded when he woke up. Everything ached, so he did not move at first, and he was somewhere unfamiliar, so he did not open his eyes. Training dictated he wait and observe what was going on before he alerted those around him he was conscious. The only people he could sense were two bodies nearly piled on top of him, one male and one female, and Illya could feel the weight of blankets heavy on his chest. 

Solo and Gaby.

It came back to Illya suddenly, his trip through the river, and his gradual descent into lethargy as his frozen blood circulated. He remembered dropping Solo on the ground roughly, and that the CIA operative had been conscious, talking, but perhaps not oriented. Gaby was leading the way, and coaxing him along. He doubted that they would be bundled like this together if they had been caught. Illya doubted he would have ever woken up again, with what he had done to that target. Gaby must have gotten them away. 

The sun filtered through his closed eyelids, and the air inside what could only be the emergency kit’s tent was hardly balmy, but it was a far cry from the icy blast of the wind. There was a branch digging into his left kidney, and Solo’s elbow was jabbing into his side, but countering that was a pleasantly warm feeling of what must have been Gaby’s thigh across his hip, her wavy hair brushing his face and the weight of her head on his shoulder. Illya ignored that his hand felt painfully numb. 

Illya could tell they were both awake. Gaby was tense as a jackrabbit ready to spring, and Solo’s body was pulling back from them. Solo wasn’t reaching for the gun that was lying on top of the blankets across both men’s shins so they were not in immediate danger. They must have been talking, talking about something that made them both uncomfortable. Illya had a terrible dread, and could only make out a scrap of a memory where Gaby asked about his family, and the horrified, warning look in Solo’s eyes. Solo had tried to stop him from telling her. So Illya waited, doing his best not to tense up, or allow his tells to give away what he was feeling. In space this small, he could not afford have an episode. He kept the hand across his chest still, and hoped the nerve impingement on his left by the weight of a soft brunette head kept the other quiet. And he listened.

“Volatile personality disorder.” Gaby asked. “What does that mean?” She said flatly, a demand. Illya remembered the moment she walked out of the little shop where they first officially met. She did not sound happy, in fact it was safer to say she was in a spitfire mood.

“A psychiatric diagnosis. I’m not sure it all fits, but he did not hide anything from you, Gaby. What you see with him is what you get. Mood swings, seeing the world rather black and white, and putting the people he cares about on pedestals. His psychotic rage episodes when he is being insulted, his truly remarkable ability to cope with his job, and his compulsive attachment to his father’s watch. It’s just what it is. But he rose above it, with that diagnosis. Usually the person functions rather poorly, addictions, suicides, other major behavioural issues.” Napoleon said, and Illya felt himself starting to shake. He tried to suppress it, but this was getting very far out of his comfort zone. He was listening to his life, his head being so plainly discussed. 

“He’s shivering again?” Gaby said and stretched, settling farther onto him. “It’s been hours.” 

“I’m sure it takes a while to balance out,” Solo said, slowly, carefully. “But from you’ve said, and what I’ve seen, other than his temper, he appears to cope rather well. He’s clever enough to stay away from anything that’s going to feed into it.” 

“Was there anything else?” Her question so innocent, made Illya’s heart seize in his chest. He was well aware of what other detail was written in his psychological profile. He did not acknowledge it, and thought the exploitation of women, including his mother, was beyond reprehensible. He did not envy what his mother had done to survive the political repercussions of his father’s arrest. And Solo knew it too. No CIA agents worth their salt would have let that detail slip their attention. Illya had seen the entirety of UNCLE’s report on the American. 

“No.” It was the practised tone of the con man, the thief, that said that. It was natural, no pauses, the answer did not come too quickly. It was perfect. And it was a lie. 

“And you think, it was because of what he said. How he was hurt as a boy.” Gaby asked softly, her voice speaking in Illya’s ear. It would have been intimate, except that she spoke over him, as if he was not lying there. 

“The timing fits. Having a privileged life, and then going to having your married mother and gentleman callers indulge, and from what he was rambling about, perhaps they hit him, and it broke a tiny part of his mind. He certainly must have drank back then. But then, anyone as smart as he is; have you seen his chess rating? is a little broken.” Solo concluded. 

Illya tried to breathe calmly and the faint lingering smell of the perfumed shampoo she always used helped. Playing possum may have fooled Gaby, but Illya felt Solo tense up and back away. It was not very far, more like leaning against the edge of the tent. A mere three inches separated them. 

Illya’s eyes snapped open, just as Solo spoke softly. “Illya, she asked.” It was no apology, said without remorse. 

Gaby sat up straight, the blankets falling away from them. She scrambled back, and covered her mouth. 

“Illya. I thought… You were…” She trailed off helplessly. 

Illya could not say anything with his throat locked up. He saw his finger tapping then. He closed his eyes again, and started shivering for real, not trembling in uncontrolled emotion, but he still felt cold. But all he could hear was Gaby’s rapid breathing, and the strictly controlled calm breaths emanating from Solo.

“Peril. Do we need to step outside?” Solo asked, all business. Illya heard the real question, “are we in danger if we stay”. And Illya was ashamed it was question that needed asking. He craned his neck back, and wished he was in a hotel room funded by the KGB, where he could break anything and not feel guilty. It was very tight in the tent.

Nothing Solo had said, other than feeding Gaby the name of the diagnosis Illya wore was new information, nothing an observer that had spent as much time as she did with him would not have noticed. It was irrational to feel betrayed. But knowing that she would eventually find out just out how pathetic he was, was different than facing it now. Who would chose to trust a madman?  
He internalized any feelings, because he could not be angry with her, not like that. Solo had told the truth. Illya took a long moment to answer, but when he spoke, his teeth started to chatter. “No. I will be fine.” 

“Oh Illya,” Gaby said very quietly, and she placed her hand on his forehead, “You’re still cold.” She pushed the layers of unzipped sleeping bags and foil emergency blankets back over him. Both she and Solo still sat in the cold, she wearing nothing but a shift, and Solo bare-chested. They both looked uncomfortable. 

“Come back before you freeze. We should get moving again by two. Have either of you slept?” Illya said, hating the interruption in his voice from his teeth clacking together. He forced himself to stop tapping his fingers. Solo’s face was still pinched, but he lay down, and eased next to Illya, shoulders touching. 

Gaby looked at him, and Solo. She closed her eyes, and swallowed, “Illya I’m sorry I asked you about your family. It hurts me to talk about papa Schmidt too. And I’m grateful you’re here.” She stopped talking. 

Illya’s mind circled on everything she should have said. “But?”

“No. I’m just grateful. There are no other men that would do what you’ve done for us.” Gaby smiled that cautious smile. And tucked herself back onto him. In her posture and her voice, there was no lie. And if she were scared of what he was, or what he could do to her she would never have fallen asleep so quickly. 

Solo seemed to wait until Gaby was deeply asleep before he spoke. “Would you rather I lied?”

Illya wanted to say yes, but, a team like theirs did not function if they kept things from each other. Not knowing if your team respected you enough to be honest or was just using you to get ahead in their own agendas, quickly eroded the camaraderie necessary in operations where agents were responsible for one another’s lives. Petty fights dissolved into small decisions that had gotten others killed unnecessarily. Illya had seen those dynamics before and choosing to work alone had been the only defence. So here, now, he knew what his answer had to be. 

“She was worried. You said a few revealing things last night, and she had reason to be concerned. You could not have talked about a dog instead, could you?” Solo asked, his tone becoming lighter. 

“Mother sold my dog.” Illya answered, tone low, staring straight ahead. 

“Oh.” Solo looked chastised, then his eyes searched Illya’s face incredulously. “Russians have a peculiar sense of humour.”

“I was joking, Cowboy. I said I would always tell you both the truth. I meant it. Get some rest.” Illya watched Solo lie there, eyes open and focused on the highest point in the tent, where their gloves hung from clothespins hooked around the pole. “Sleep often starts with closing eyes.” 

“When I close my eyes the world starts spinning. I feel drunk, without the benefit of a fine glass of scotch.” Solo answered pitifully. 

“Head hurt bad?” Illya asked.

“Yes, but I’ve been here before, worse I believe. Couldn’t see for two days last time. Hit the back of my head on a marble floor. Nausea is worse this time.” Solo answered. 

“Do you know what they gave you?” Illya asked.

“Thorazine and cocaine.” Solo answered. “Got a really bad headache, and passed out almost immediately. I imagine they were not pleased.” 

“Does your chest hurt?” Illya asked, thinking of the effects of Rudi’s torture on the American agent’s heart.

“No.”

“Nausea comes after the thorazine wears off.” Illya suggested, his voice small. 

“Been through the same routine then?” Solo chuckled.

“No just the thorazine, before I joined Spetsnaz.” Illya let the implication hang in the air. “It will go away in hour or two. Try to sleep. I am not carrying you all the way back to town.”

“Where’d you hear about the Lone Ranger?” Solo asked.

“What? Oh.” Illya paused, and realized that pause was too long for the American to believe the obvious falsehood Illya was about to tell. “Radio program was for educational purposes, to learn English.”

“You’d make a good Tonto.” Solo answered, and closed his eyes. 

MFU

“Okay, we need to get moving.” Illya said. He had stayed quietly awake and listened this time to the snores of his comrades. No one had come in and stolen them from him, but he did not let himself fall asleep. Gaby had been exhausted, and she had completely relaxed, and would likely feel much better once she woke. No doubt her back had been sore from lugging around that pack. Solo, on the other hand, appeared to sleep quickly once he stopped talking, but he startled at every movement Illya made, and opened his eyes when a group of coyotes started yelping around noon. Illya also poked him awake twice, just to make sure Solo was okay. Illya was not sure how much of Solo’s earlier symptoms were his head, and how much was the influence of the drugs, but Illya was fearful for his partner. 

Gaby jumped at the sound of his voice, and Illya’s trapped hand immediately moved to stroke her shoulder gently. She yawned, and stretched. “I’m hungry. And I would say I need to powder my nose, but we have been in this tent for hours.” She clenched her knees together meaningfully. 

“Five more minutes,” Solo said dopily. The American squinted his eyes and raised a palm to a lined forehead. “Or never.” 

“Solo? Will you be okay?” Gaby was on her knees in an instant. “Take some aspirin before it gets worse.” She handed him two white pills that Solo took with the tiniest sip of water. 

Illya stared at him critically. Solo’s skin was dull. “Stick out your tongue.” 

Solo looked at him in annoyed askance. “Really, Peril.” 

Illya had seen enough. “You bled, and threw up last night. You are dry, um, dehydrated. Need to drink as much as stomach can handle.” Illya took a large gulp himself, and handed Solo back the canteen. 

“Nobody has fussed like this since I enlisted and my mother and aunts packed my bag for me.” Solo scowled, and took a few more swallows. Illya waited, expectantly. Solo caught Illya’s eyes and dropped his gaze. 

The American looked towards Gaby, who cleared her throat. “I think you should listen to him.” Solo drank again, a little more this time. He stopped suddenly and clenched his teeth. 

“Just breathe in through nose. It will pass.” Illya rumbled, and looked for something to eat. He grabbed a ration bar, and chewed it less than enthusiastically. 

Gaby was pulling on her layers of long underwear and pants, her face turning a bit red. Illya tried not to look at her, but it was a small tent. She practically had to sit in his lap to do it. Gaby threw on her vest, leaving her snowsuit off, unzipped the tent and pulled a tin blanket off their boots putting her feet in boots too large for her feet. She zipped the tent, and both men could hear her trot away. “Stay close,” Illya cautioned as loud as he dared. 

“I’m not going to get lost!” Came her reply.

“More worried about who else may have gotten lost last night.” Illya said to Solo. 

“Do you think they know we crossed the river?” Solo asked worriedly, pulling on his clothes and reaching for his gun. “She should have waited for us.”

“You wanted to get in her way?” Illya asked dryly. “You shared hotel with her in Istanbul. We’re lucky to have two bathrooms in New York.” 

Solo was dressed, wearing his snowsuit before Illya finished. “She took my boots.” 

“If we had luck, tracks were snowed in last night.” Illya answered Solo’s earlier question. “Likely were, otherwise we would have had our door knocked on by now. Besides Ms. Teller can take care of herself.”

Solo frowned and tilted his head nodding, at the closed entrance. “About that. She-” 

“She can hear you both.” Gaby said. “I’m not that far away.” 

“We were testing you.” Solo stated glibly. “Bring back my boots.” 

“Once your stomach is settled, eat something. Keep energy up.” Illya advised, and tied the top of his snowsuit around his waist. 

“At least it is warmer today,” Gaby said as she walked up, and crawled back inside to put on her snowsuit. 

Both men got out of the tent, after rolling up the sleeping bags inside. When Solo stood, his face paled and he swayed. Illya came up under his shoulder, Illya’s back bent to hold him up. Illya hissed as his knee started to protest the extra weight, but the American swallowed, and forced his eyes open. He blinked a few times. “Whoa.” Illya waited, not saying a word, until Solo pulled away himself. Gaby stepped up to Solo’s other side as Illya repacked the backpack with their supplies. 

“Be careful, just because its nicer, does not mean you won’t freeze if clothes are wet. More dangerous really, can get hypothermia at zero degrees.” Illya shouldered the bag, and did not miss the relief on Gaby’s face. He smiled and pretended to offer it to her. She giggled, and hid behind Solo, who looked frankly confused. 

Solo waited for Gaby to stop laughing, and looked at Illya as if he were stupid. “Of course, that is exceedingly cold.” 

“Was colder last night, at least minus forty-five with wind chill.” Illya retorted adjusting the knife sheath under his sleeve, and his pistol. 

“Hey!” Gaby stepped in between the bristling men. “Solo, Celsius. Americans are the only ones to use Imperial anymore.” 

Solo and Illya took turns to wander off behind the trees themselves. 

“Gaby, did you try radio this morning?” Illya asked suddenly as the weight of it hit his leg, when he bent to sling the AR-15 over his shoulder. 

Her brown eyes widened dramatically. “No!” 

Solo looked confused. “I thought that you said all of Illya’s equipment was ruined?” 

“Borrowed this from our friends.” Illya said. He wiped a dried streak of blood off the radio, and shrugged. When Illya tried to hail Waverly, or any backup, all he heard was static. “Is only short range,” He tried not to let the disappointment in his voice show. “Would only work if extraction was already in area.”

“So we try again,” Solo agreed. The American shielded his eyes from the snow. “How far are we from that town you mentioned?”

“By my guess, about nineteen miles.” Illya answered. 

“That was Imperial.” Solo sniped. 

“Canadian map is imperial.” Illya answered. “But if you would rather, 30.6 kilometers.” He stared at the obvious disturbance in the snow where they had made camp. “Is like neon sign.”

“Can’t be helped. If we have that far to go, we should get hiking.” Solo said and took off at a brisk walk. Gaby rushed up and grabbed his arm. 

“No. Slow down, it’s more a turtle and rabbit situation, don’t you think?” Gaby said one eyebrow raised. 

“Fine.” Solo relented. “Peril, you planning on leading the way?” 

“Of course, Cowboy.” Illya answered, feeling pride for Gaby, his smart, strong girl.

Illya set a steady pace, but kept an eye out for not only the guards, but Solo. The man had started strongly, but was slowing down, particularly after he’d eaten his ration bar. His forehead shone with perspiration, but evidently American training meant something, because he had stripped off the upper portion of his snow suit, and tied it around his waist like Illya had, but his skin retained a green cast. The American’s head was up at first, and Solo kept watch as dutifully as Illya had, but after an hour, his chin was on his chest, eyes were narrowed to slits. Solo was not complaining, so Illya kept them moving. As long as Solo looked steady, Illya would push them to keep going. If they could walk until midnight, they would likely arrive in town the next day in the afternoon. 

Illya had decided to make up a story about finding the two members of UNCLE lost in the storm the night before, and that they had been robbed on the road, maybe by people up at the laboratory in the woods. He would casually ask if they had seen the smoke that still was visible wafting up, a light grey color that afternoon. This would establish that they were victims, knew nothing of the destruction of the building, and capitalize on the town’s mistrust of the Racine Operation. If Waverly had not sent help by then, Illya would be able to use a phone in the town to call Waverly’s home himself, if he needed to.

Illya stopped suddenly as he heard Solo take a couple steps through the fresh snow, hardened by the wind, crunching it. The American dropped to his knees, pulled off his gloves and raised a hand to his mouth. His back convulsed a few times, and he spat. Solo dropped his hand into undisturbed snow, and took a mouthful, then he spat that too. Solo wiped his reddening hand on his pants, and slipped his glove back on. 

Illya was there, and took Solo’s elbow as he stood. His nostrils flared, and Illya saw the American’s eyes roll. Illya clutched him to his chest, expecting a sudden drop. They hovered, Solo’s back leaning on Illya’s chest, until the American offered weakly. “I usually offer someone a drink before they get this close to me.” 

“You missed your opportunity last night, and we both know I don’t like champagne.” Illya said, and propped Solo up until he tapped Illya on the arm. “We could take break. Are you getting worse?” 

“No, just needed to stop, and then I stood up too fast. My fault.” Solo replied. 

Illya looked at him critically. A certain type of head injury could fluctuate in severity, until the person finally succumbed, a slow bleed, but Solo was not slurring words, and his pupils appeared equal. A concussion was Illya all could confirm for now, though he was not excited to learn Solo had been knocked for a loop before. Head injuries were dangerous, something Illya tried to avoid. Boxing had not been a sport he pursued for a reason. Too many of the soldiers involved in it ended dead, or stupider for it.

“Need help walking, Solo?” Illya asked. 

“Don’t. You have your hands full.” Solo avoided the question. “That rifle and that pack aren’t light. I notice you’re walking overly carefully.” 

Gaby, who had been watching both men and keeping her ears open, stepped up. “I, on the other hand, am quite fine.” She walked to Solo’s side, keeping her fist bunched in the back of his jacket for leverage should he stumble. 

Solo sighed, and followed Illya, who eyed the wide trail they were leaving with a critical eye. There was nothing practical to do about it, except move more quickly than their enemies suspected. And the warmer air was kinder to the three, the harsh wind not blowing them backwards as it had done the night before, but that previous wind that made it all the more miserable also hid evidence for them. 

Illya pictured the map in his mind. As he was a little foggy on how far east they had moved the night before when Gaby made camp, he was not sure of where they were now. Somewhere, closer to the river than the town, the road out to the research complex angled east, before heading south again, and the trio would have to cross it go to the town. 

They had stopped twice for the call of nature, and once more for Solo to have a break. Illya felt the kink in his knee ease up as the muscle warmed with use, and it was a relief. So it was nearly dusk when the trees moved farther apart, and Illya could see a large open area ahead. Illya saw a mink spring across the top of the snow. Illya held up his fist, and crouched. Solo dropped, and pulled Gaby down with him. Illya moved back closer to them. “The road is ahead. I will go scout and make sure no one is coming. Please wait here. I will be back. When we cross road, we will have to cover our tracks coming to and from the trees, otherwise will be easy to spot our trail as they evacuate the compound. They have to know where we are going, would make sense to check road here.” 

Illya left his partners hiding in the brush, a pair of binoculars in Solo’s hands. Illya crept to the edge of the trees. The bushes encroached on the edges of the poorly maintained private road. He looked up and down, hoping to see a patch of thick brush to lead his team through without damaging the branches too badly, as it would make where they crossed invisible, and a quick skiff with a handful of dead branches would suitably erase careful footsteps. 

What Illya saw made his blood run cold. Boot prints, along the road and entering the trees fifty meters west, were fresh enough that the tracks looked crisp, and the lines formed by the impression of the heels were mostly unbroken. Illya went very still, and stayed to the east of the tree he was hidden behind. It was not yet night, but his dark snow suit, tied around his waist would stand out among all the white. The white fleece jacket he had on would not help him blend in against the evergreens. What worked as cover at night, betrayed him by the fading light of the day. 

Illya turned and waved to signal Solo and Gaby. Gunfire opened up to the north of him. A cacophony of AK’s, the whine of a suppressed pistol, and the popping sound of an Uzi. When Illya moved, a line of bullets whizzed in front of him, and he leaped back behind the nearest tree. One of the bullets pulled at the sleeve of his suit, still tied to his waist. 

Illya went low, and pulled his AR-15 off his back. He peeked out the other side of the tree, and while he tried to spot his enemies, and another spray of gunfire hit the tree, spraying debris across the field of vision through the scope. They had his number. 

“Cowboy, I’m pinned!” Illya shouted. 

“Working on it.” Gaby shouted back.

Illya stayed low, and while he did not risk his head being shot off, he swept his gaze side to side, looking for the Racine guards trying to flank him or his team. He managed to line up his rifle in time to pick off two men that were foolish enough to run east. Illya felt unsure firing north, unless he had a good sight line and could angle the shot down. Bullets travelled farther than just the man you shot at, and he had no idea where Gaby and Solo had moved to. 

“You should be clear,” Gaby shouted, after three eternal minutes had passed of exchanged gunfire. Illya unshouldered his bag and waved it back and forth experimentally to draw attention, before he trusted enough to sprint to the next set of trees. The thinner forest near the road was a severe disadvantage. Once more he was stuck, but this time, he blindly fired back as he spotted his target before they shot at him. This tree was much younger, and Illya did not feel safe behind it. He felt the wind of too many bullets. 

“Clear.” Solo yelled. And the UZI fire went quiet. Illya still did not have eyes on his partners, so he balanced looking for them with spotting the enemy guards. Illya paused behind more cover as he shot two more men with burst of bullets. They fell. Then Illya heard a long drum from the UZI, unlike the crisp bursts Solo had used before. Only amateurs spend ammunition like that on a fully automatic mode. Either an enemy soldier was using the gun, or Gaby. 

Illya broke into a run, and shot another man on a mad dash to where he’d heard the gunfire. The continuous noise made it much simpler to locate. Even as he ran, he heard another sound grow louder that he had ignored to focus on the gunfire. There was a distinct and familiar small engine coming up behind him. Something punched Illya in the back, and he fell gracelessly forward into the snow. 

Illya was awake, but his diaphragm was locked, and he could not take a breath. His toque pulled up to his forehead, his skin burned with the feeling of snow melting on his face and his neck, and the large bag on his back prevented him from rolling over. So he stayed pinned to the ground, his neck and chest flexing futility. Spots danced in his vision. He tried to relax, not panic. Not panic while his partners were under fire, and he had been shot. He closed his eyes, and thought of the brown hair that had tickled his face that afternoon. Finally he could take a breath, and grunted air into his starving lungs, as his diaphragm ripped down. He forced himself to roll to his side to face the men on the machine, and pulled his rifle quickly up to sight one-handed, and the men veered away. The stability of the rifle in Illya’s hand on the semi-automatic mode normally shot through tightly controlled keyhole pattern, but it sprayed wildly as the butt of the rifle slammed back into his side. The men on the snow machine fell off sideways, but the machine itself tipped turning too tightly. Illya put two shots into the machine itself, before he realised, and released the trigger. The engine had ceased to run. He struggled to pull his pistol as his long gun clicked empty, but the men did not get up and start firing. 

Illya tried to stand, and surprised, found he could. He flexed his back, and it hurt, but he could not feel the warm trace of blood running down his skin, so he deemed the damage irrelevant, and continued running for where he’d last heard the fire of the Uzi. All of the gunfire had died out. 

Illya nearly ran past the silent struggle. One soldier held a gun on Solo, standing unmoving three meters back from the UNCLE agent in the snow. He had the gun trained on the American, and his eyes were on the sight of his partner trying to pin Gaby in the snow. They rolled and Illya heard the man grunt. The click of a switchblade filled the quiet evening air as Gaby cried out. Even as Illya put a bullet in the head of the man holding a gun on Solo, blood sprayed through the air, painting the snow, and Gaby sprang back panting, holding up her blade. The man that had been on top of her clutched one side of his throat, and Illya held him down on forest floor with a foot to the back, and emptied his clip into the man’s head. 

Illya noticed his hand twitching madly, even as part of him rationalized how stupid wasting his ammunition was. His chest heaved, as he dropped his pistol and switched magazines on his AR-15. Illya went to a knee, and surveyed the rest of the forest. Everything stayed quiet. 

As he forced himself to breathe, he noted that his partners were unusually quiet too. Solo still lay on his back in the snow, not saying a word. And Gaby stood, big eyes on him, holding the knife in a bloody hand, red sprayed across her jacket. Her own mouth was bleeding, and her nose dripped down. Illya lowered his gun, and stepped toward her. She stepped back, those brown eyes not seeing him. 

“Gaby,” he almost sang to her, “Put down the knife.” Illya could come and take it from her, like he did the pistol that last night, but she was terrified, and full of adrenaline. He did not want to frighten her more. “Gaby, I’m going to check on Solo.” He turned and put his back to her. She need a few moments to clear her head, and Solo’s quietness was worrying him. 

Illya dropped to his knees beside the sprawled American, and ran a critical glance over his body. Blood was not pooling in the snow, and Illya could not see any obvious extra holes. He forced his gloved hands under the American’s back just in case. 

Gaby started moving, she walking slowly to their side. “Someone got to the side of us. I pushed Solo down, and he fell and didn’t get up. I tried to use his gun, but I couldn’t get a solid grip on it, hit myself in the face when it fired.” She shook her head. “I am such a fool. Two of them, I guess the last two, got close enough to see Solo on the ground, and me holding my face like a girl. You saw the rest.” 

Solo was breathing evenly, and was starting to moan, Illya rolled the American to his side, just in case. And he turned to look at Gaby, who did not meet his eyes. “You learned pretty quickly. That was a good move you made with your knife. Very fast.” 

She flinched back, and Illya felt very stupid. He tried again. “Come here.” And she crouched in the snow in front of him. He took off his gloves and ran his thumbs down the bridge of her nose. “It’s not broken. Here pinch at the top, and tilt chin down.” He offered, but knew by morning she’d be sporting two black eyes. And her jaw would swell. He ran a curious hand down her jaw line, and she flinched over where it had started to bruise. “Does it hurt to talk?” She nodded. “Teeth line up the same.” She nodded yes again. “May need x-ray. Hurt anywhere else?” She shook her head. Illya pulled her close to him, and spoke softly in her ear as she stiffened. “I’m sorry, could not be back faster to help. I am very sorry. But you were strong, my little chop shop girl.”

“I am sorry to interrupt. But, could someone help me up?” Solo had one eye opened and squinted at the two of them. “I seem to have had a great need to make snow angels.” 

Gaby let out a noise more sob than laugh. “I pushed you, someone had snuck up on us, and you didn’t see them. You fell too hard. I’m sorry.” Gaby put out a hand for Solo to use. He remained seated there for a moment, blinking rapidly, throat convulsing and Illya could only watch, as he threw up on Gaby’s already stained jacket. He was there to keep Solo upright, as Gaby leaped backward, letting go of her nose and tore the jacket off.

“I hated that jacket.” Solo said. 

“That’s just because I picked it out,” Illya replied.

“That wasn’t intentional, Gaby. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather you beat me with a tire iron than be shot in the side of the head, so thank you.” Solo tried to grin, but just looked sick. 

Gaby stood then and pinched her nose as blood continued to drip. Illya looked at her. “Gaby, sit down on that fallen tree, until nose stops bleeding.” He looked down at Solo who seemed to be collecting his wits. 

“Let’s get you up, Cowboy.” Illya put his arms underneath Solo’s and pulled him slowly to his feet, dancing backwards with his partner, pulling him next to Gaby, and sitting him on the log. He pulled off the jacket Solo had been lying on the ground in, as it was soaked with melting snow, and shook it out the best he could. 

He shrugged off the backpack, and did not keep the grimace off his face. Gaby had her eyes closed, and Solo was staring between his feet. Illya moved to a clean patch of snow, and began sorting through the contents of the bag. Two of the sleeping bags were newly ventilated, and the cast iron pot had serendipitously caught the bullet. It tinkled around and dropped in to the snow. Illya was glad to see it disappear. Illya clipped Solo’s jacket to the side of the pack, and superstitiously put the pot back flat against the side of the bag. He broke out his roll of duct tape and began patching the bag, as it was insulated to keep the water from freezing. While all the heat had escaped for now, Illya doubted he would be able to convince his partners to walk for another few hours that night. The water would be okay when they stopped. The noise of the tape had both his partners looking up with parallel befuddled expressions, and then Gaby saw what he was taping up and the holes torn through the sleeping bags, still in the snow. 

“Illya.” Gaby said very softly. “Were you shot?” 

“Shot at, not shot.” She would have seen it later anyway, when Illya dug a fire pit to hide the light for melting more snow to water. He put the tape down, and pulled the pot out of the bag. Solo’s jaw dropped as Illya rotated the heavy pot to show where the metal at the bottom ballooned out. 

“Bad luck, Peril.” 

“Having a bruise instead of hole says differently.” Illya shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the movement. “Gaby, if I put two rounds into the engine block of a snowmobile, would you be able to fix it?” 

“Do you have any tools, besides the tape and a knife?”

“Ah, no.” Illya answered.

“Lock picking set,” Solo answered. 

“I’ll have a look,” said Gaby. “And next time, I have a say what’s in the bag.” 

“No, wait for us,” Solo said. “Absolutely no more splitting up, unless it’s one of us per bathtub at the hotel in Ottawa.”

“Agreed.” Illya said, and stuffed everything back into the bag, but his tape and Solo’s tools of the trade.

Illya pulled Solo up, looked at the bag, and rolled his shoulders with a sigh. Gaby looked at both the men considering and snatched up the bag. “Come on then.” 

The three shambled back to where Illya left the snowmobile. Two dead men lay beside it. Gaby scrunched up her face. “Can you, please?” Illya grabbed one arm from each and dragged them away. Gaby sat distastefully and looked through the bottom of the toppled machine where Illya had put the holes. 

“Waverly is never going to let you buy anything new again,” Gaby declared. “All of the oil has leaked out.” She pointed to a brown patch in the snow under the machine. “Even if I patched it up, it won’t run.” 

“So we’re walking. Joy.” Solo grumbled and made a brave attempt at starting out. Illya came back up under his arm as he wove drunkenly. 

Gaby tucked everything of value inside the pack and followed them. “How much longer are we going to go tonight?” 

Solo shrugged, and looked at Illya. “Thoughts?”

“Far enough from this,” Illya answered vaguely when the team crossed the road. Illya did not bother hiding their tracks as planned. He believed there was already enough evidence to place them there, if more people had escaped the explosion at the Racine lab and came looking. Fortunately nothing was visible from the road, because if a curious member of the local population stumbled over that scene before Waverly’s cleanup crew could contain it, there would be a media storm. 

Illya stayed under Solo’s shoulder and Gaby led the way as they made their way a mile south. Solo stopped suddenly, and declared that it was far enough. Illya looked to Gaby, who was breathing hard, and had taken the time to pull her snowsuit back up and zipped it to her chin. Illya nodded. “Three votes yes then.” 

“A Russian taking votes, that’s new.” Gaby smiled. 

“Funny,” Solo snorted. Illya looked at them trying to maintain his stern face. But Gaby was losing the look in her eyes like she was one step away from crying, and declaring she was done with UNCLE. And Solo though unwell, was not disoriented, and was acting himself. 

“I’ll set up the tent, assuming, it doesn’t have holes in it too.” Gaby announced. 

Illya held up his hand, and pointed, “Over there. Natural depression to hide fire. Though I hope sincerely there is no one left to hide fire from. And this time, Gaby, feel under snow for roots, sticks. Had something poking into my back entire time. Very uncomfortable.” 

Illya dug out the snow, and broke dead sticks off trees, until he built them a warm fire. It was too dark to see the smoke, and as he searched for deadfall to keep it going, he was satisfied to see the light did not spread, and would be invisible from a distance, as long as he kept it small. 

Gaby set up the tent, and Solo peeked through the backpack. “Hot chocolate mix, but no coffee.” Illya put his new favourite pot on rocks near the edge of the fire, heaped with snow and waited, as Solo pulled out three tin cups. Illya tried the shortwave radio for one more time that night. He was unsurprised to hear nothing in return. 

“Ration bar anyone? I hear they are lovely mixed with burnt cocoa.” Solo offered and Illya took one, Gaby more reluctantly. 

“Solo, I won’t complain about your cooking ever again.” Gaby said as she took a bite. 

Solo managed to eat half, as they settled on a thicker piece of wood Illya dragged from the trees to next to the fire. The three warmed up their hands and drank cocoa, before Illya dumped potfuls of snow on the coals, to douse the fire stirring with a longer stick, before they shuffled into the tent with their own sleeping bags. Gaby set herself up in the middle with the sleeping bag that did not require repair work. Neither of the men complained. 

MFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reviews for last chapter were amazing, and inspiring. I really appreciate everyone reading, and liking this story.
> 
> Thanks for the patience, I hope the long chapter was worth the wait. I have started working with the generous rebelliousrose to beta for me, and she will be gradually cleaning up my typos. And she even suggested the first scene this chapter.
> 
> One more chapter to go, but I have several more adventures planned, so don't fear.
> 
> If you have time, let me know what you thought. There was a lot more dialogue this chapter, how was it?


	4. It's Been Awhile

The three UNCLE agents slowly made their way to the minor highway that ran next to the town in the distance. The sun was setting in the trees behind and open fields lay before them, fenced with cattle grazing. The highway was overblown with drifts, and appeared icy in patches. The snow crossing the road was untracked. Two miles down the road Illya could see orange barricades set up past the exit to the town of Naroca. 

“Must have closed the road.” Gaby sighed, and pulled on the straps digging into her shoulders. She was beginning to walk with a stoop, and stepped very carefully. That morning, as everyone carefully dressed, Illya had seen the blisters cut into her feet from the brand new boots and sweaty socks. While the damage to her face was not as bad as Illya had feared, her nose was slightly swollen, and blood pooled under her eyes giving her the appearance of a beaten wife. Her jaw was scraped and bruised as well, although she still could talk, and Illya presumed it was not broken. When she had rolled up her sleeves of the thermal undershirt she wore in the tent last night, he had seen bruising starting on her forearms. She had taken an aspirin herself, when she offered it to the men from the first aid kit, but only one. Gaby did not complain about her pain, other than to grump about the weight of the bag. 

Solo had offered to rub her shoulders, but Gaby only rolled her eyes at him. “The last time I got that close to you, you threw up all over me.” Illya disliked seeing her in pain, but found himself a little pleased at her refusal. Perhaps he could bring it up when they got cleaned up and settled, and give her a proper Russian massage. 

Illya had an arm under Solo’s shoulder and around his back. The American walked with his head slumped, and the group frequently stopped as he became increasingly dizzy. Resting for few minutes gave Solo a chance to relax and clear his head. Illya had offered to carry him, who simply said “Not yet”. He had stopped throwing up, but was not eating well enough to please his teammates. The wound next to his hairline on his temple would likely heal to be less noticeable, but Illya wished he could have stitched it. When he replaced the gauze that morning, it gaped ugly, and was crusted with old blood. The KGB had plastic surgeons that helped with disfiguring wounds, like the one by his eye, so perhaps the Americans would have similar services. 

As he walked, Illya bitterly condemned himself for destroying the vehicle he could have used to have his partners to medical care a day ago. His own aches were irrelevant; the twinge from his knee and ankle had resumed. There had been no sign of the Racine group, perhaps that last party they encountered the day before had been what remained. He doubted they would have been able to find many alive in the decimated building, so likely the survivors were the lucky guards combing the grounds or already out in the woods when the C4 detonated. Revenge or perhaps a suspicion that the UNCLE agents had data on their organization or project had driven them to seek out the party fleeing through the woods, and sent them to their deaths. 

Illya had infrequently tried the radio, but either Waverly had cut ties with the agents, believing them dead, or his radio did not work. He removed the back with Solo’s lock picking set, and tried to check the connections were sound, but it had not changed the dead air they received in response, much to the American’s chagrin. Illya maintained that he had not bent the strut of metal that badly. 

Gaby had not said much that night or during the day. The somewhat jovial mood of relief from the night before sitting on the log trying to thaw their hands over the small fire had gone up in smoke. Solo was exhausted, and Illya was sure Gaby’s jaw hurt. He also noticed her face crumple at times, and she shook her head as if to clear it. She was going to have to talk to someone when they got back. Maybe Waverly, maybe someone trained to work with people newer to combat. Illya wished he knew what to say, but he felt pride in her, and shame at his own failure that he had not been faster or smarter in preventing her having to shoot her gun or wield the blade at all. It would never cross Illya’s mind to suggest to her to leave. Gaby needed to come to grips what being an agent entailed.

As the three walked down the side of the road, footing was a bit slippery. The elevation of the road had enabled most of the snow to be blown off, aside from the finger drifts reaching across. They had made it a quarter of a mile before a truck came from the direction of the town, slowed and navigated around the barriers. 

Illya had broken down his AR-15 and the Uzi stowing them and left the tent and his cast iron pot behind in the woods to make room for the weapons in the bag, when the empty highway first came into sight. The pistol hidden in his pocket felt a bit inadequate as the red truck bounced over the snow drifts sliding side to side towards them. Illya could see the outline of the driver, a woman’s hair easily visible. Gaby retreated to his side, her hand also in her pocket. Her shoulders shook, and she looked between the truck and then back to him. Solo’s fatigue was evident in his response time; the truck was nearly upon them when he finally heard it, because stopping did not seem alert to him to the potential threat.

“Gaby, take Solo.” She nodded and slipped Solo’s arm over her shoulder. “Time to play it Cowboy’s way.” Illya muttered to her.

“Illya, what’s going on?” Gaby demanded as he walked away from his battered team and screwed on the best worried, exhausted, and cold look onto his face that he could. It was not a stretch. 

The vehicle slowed and did half a U-turn, stopping in the middle of the road. The driver shifted, and pushed the passenger side door, closest to Illya open. He could see warm air crystalize as it exited the vehicle. Illya recognized the face he saw peering at him; not anyone from the mission dossiers, but was the woman who ran the diner, Annette. Her eyebrow lifted into her hairline as she swept her gaze across the three of them. “Dear Lord, pardon me for saying so, but what have we here? Hurry up and get in, I’ll take you three back to town.” Annette offered. 

Illya felt a bit lightheaded as all tension rushed out of him. Any form of extraction was better late than never. He congratulated himself on leaving that large tip. “Thank you.” Illya said, putting just an edge of chattiness into his voice. He waved for Gaby and turned to help her and Solo. Solo tilted his head in confusion, took a step away from Gaby and ended up sitting on the road in the middle of the highway. Gaby was on her knees then grabbed his shoulders. Illya took the bag from her, and threw it in the back of the truck. 

“I was just out to my sister’s for Sunday supper, but I’m glad I was running a bit late. I saw you on the horizon and thought that maybe someone’s cows were out, but you were much too small for that.” Annette shifted her vehicle into park, and jumped out when Solo fell. “What happened?” She looked at Solo in alarm and then she saw Gaby’s face. 

“No one’s been beating on you, have they, sweetie?” Annette asked kindly. “You look frozen to the bone.” 

Gaby smiled painfully. “My cousin would never let them leave if they tried.” She tilted her head at Solo. “We were driving up to one of the mines for work, and we got lost, put our vehicle in the ditch. This man rescued us, but his Ski-Doo hit a rock on the way back. It was a bit a of rough landing.” Gaby took the Annnette’s offered hand to get to her feet. “Jack, are you okay?”

“It sounds like you three have been through the mill. I’ll have you back to town quick, and I’ll open up my restaurant. I live above the place, and I’ll cook you up a nice supper and I’ll run down to sheriff, and he’ll call the doctor for you. I’m sure Mr. Dahl from the general store could find some clean clothes for everyone.” And then Annette looked up and down at Illya. “Maybe.” 

Illya assisted Solo back to his feet, and steered him into the vehicle after Gaby. The bench seat would be full with the three of them. Gaby held Solo as he leaned on her. “I’ll be in the back. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Illya tried to smile. 

“You three seem to have had quite an adventure together. To go from being strangers to looking at each other like that?” Annette observed as Illya placed a hand on the back of the truck bed. His knee twinged painfully when he bent it to step onto the back tire and ungracefully entered the truck bed. He slumped against the back window as he pulled the face mask of the toque back down. The wind whipped at Illya as the truck accelerated, none too gently bouncing over the drifts, but the last two miles back to town took ten minutes. Only ten minutes and they were stopped in front of the diner. Illya could see the truck he’d rented still parked there, covered in snow with his own radio equipment still under the passenger seat. He vaulted over the side of the truck and found himself sitting on the sidewalk, his tailbone aching with fresh pain. 

“Oh dear,” Annette said and rushed to pull him up. “You don’t seem too good yourself.” 

If Illya wasn’t too chilled to blush he would have. “Must have been ice. Just tired. And cold.” He ignored the urge to rub his backside, with Solo’s grin in the side mirror. Illya opened the door with more force than necessary. “Come on Jack. Let’s get you inside,” he growled. Solo’s smirk did not fade. 

“Very smoothly done. You should try out for the Olympic gymnastics team.” Solo said. 

“You sound better.” Illya observed, and helped the American into the diner, seating him far from the icy glass door. Gaby sat in the booth next to Illya, appearing to wilt after stripping off her snowsuit to sit in just long underwear. 

Annette flew back out onto the street, calling back, “I turned on the coffee pot, and put it on the stove. I’ll just be right to the sheriff and stop at Mr. Dahl’s house. You get warmed up and something to drink. I’ll be right back.” 

When the door banged shut, Illya looked at Gaby tenderly. “I have back up radio in my vehicle parked on the street. I should go contact Waverly.” 

Gaby rested her head on the table in front of her. “Sounds good.” 

“You’re in the way.” Illya tried to suggest.

“Shush. Just sit.” Gaby said.

Solo had lain back against the padded bench to lie flat, still in full gear, with his knees bent and feet on the floor in the aisle. “She has a good point, Peril. Do you really want to go back outside right now?”

“We should report in.” Illya protested.

“I believe we agreed not to split up until we could arrange hot baths in Ottawa, and right now you’re outvoted.” Solo said, supine.

“This is why democracy does not work,” Illya said with an affected pout. He saw Gaby’s chest puff up from where she sat. “Nothing gets done.” Gaby huffed out a laugh. He cautiously tucked an arm around her shoulders, and she shuffled closer to him. 

“That was a good story you spun there, Miss Teller.” Solo praised her. “I, of course, would have said you were my wife, but then cuddling with Peril would have looked scandalous to the town’s folks.” Illya’s did blush this time, and he almost jerked his arm away. Solo’s eyes had been closed the entire time, but he was a good spy. 

Gaby’s small hand grabbed his and pulled him closer. She straightened and turned to look at him. “We never would have gotten out of that building without you, or survived the trip back. You are a good man, Illya. I couldn’t ask for a more devoted team,” she glanced at Solo quickly, but quickly resumed staring up into Illya’s eyes. “Nothing could ever make me change my mind about that.” 

When Gaby said his name, a hot wave ran through him. Illya dipped his head and cupped his hand to the soft unmarred skin on her chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand over Solo’s face. He smiled softly as he took his time to kiss her. Illya pulled back first, to catch the look in her eyes, but they were still closed. Her shoulders rolled back, and she dragged her teeth over her lip. He waited her out. He was be exceedingly patient when he needed to be. 

Gaby lifted those long dark lashes, as a low giggle escaped her. “Finally.” Illya brushed his hand tenderly over the uninjured half of her face, and was about to see if he could get her to make that noise again, when the door to diner banged open forcefully. 

Five armed men pushed in.

Illya had his weapon drawn, balanced in a comfortable grip, when the man in front snapped off a sharp salute. Illya waited with his gun aimed. They wore fatigues, he realized. And the caps on their heads were official. 

“We were sent to provide assistance and extraction for a team of agents responsible for a counterterrorism plot.” The man in front said, not moving his hands from his sides. “Your man Waverly had us dispatched. He said to tell you, Agent Kuryakin, to keep your damned radio on next time.” Illya pulled his finger off the trigger, and noticed Gaby point her gun at the floor in his peripheral vision. 

“We have him on radio right now,” the soldier, said, not moving. The man at the rear of the procession had a headset on, and the backpack he wore obviously contained technical equipment. 

“Gaby?” Illya asked. She nodded and slid out of the booth. The man with the radio stepped forward. 

She listened for a few minutes and frowned. “Next time, we are responsible for holding the prisoners. Solo’s a little worse for wear, but we’re seeing a doctor tonight. Have plastics meet us in Ottawa tomorrow. Kuryakin pulled us out and dragged us thirty-one kilometers. We eliminated the rest of the organization on the walk back. One of the KGB’s best? No. UNCLE’s best.” She said, and took off the headset. 

Solo pulled himself up from where he lay, and put his gun on the table. “All clear, Gaby?” 

“Yes, Waverly says he’s got a five-star suite booked for us in the capitol. And says he’s glad we’re okay.” Gaby turned sharply to the men that stood around her. “You were late.” 

The soldiers uniformly flinched. The leader spoke up. “We were delayed by the storm two nights ago, and our flyovers could not spot you.” 

“The town believes us to be travelling to work at the mines, and Illya to be a winter camper.” Solo offered. “You are here because Illya managed to put out a distress call on his radio before it broke, and since he is an important ambassador from the Ukraine, you were sent to find him. Well done.” The last words bit with sarcasm. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Which is something you won’t say again when our generous host walks through the door, in three, two, one.” Solo waved his hand, as the bell above the glass door tinkled open. Gaby moved to sit next to Solo so she could face the door. Illya stuffed his gun and Gaby’s into his jacket, and zipped it back up. Solo’s piece was simply gone, but he never saw the American move. 

Annette entered the diner, and let the door bang shut behind her, as she looked over the airmen in the entryway. “Will you gentlemen be having supper as well?” 

“No, ma’am, we will be returning to base if the ambassador has no further need for us,” the lieutenant said. 

“I will be able to manage. Thank you.” Illya said a bit stiffly. The men filed out. 

Annette shuffled up to their booth and set down a shopping bag. “Ambassador? You said you were a businessman who emigrated from the Ukraine.” She sounded a bit hurt. 

“I am,” Illya soothed. “Just don’t wish to bring up politics at table. Is not polite.” 

“Indeed it’s not. What will you be having tonight? I’ll bring you some coffee. You must be exhausted. How far did you have to walk?”

“Too far,” Solo answered. “I happen to be a bit of a chef myself, just surprise us.”

Annette smiled. “You three can stay with me tonight. I have two extra beds since my children moved out, if two of you don’t mind sharing or sleeping on the sofa.” 

“A bed sounds lovely.” Gaby sighed. 

“The doctor will come see you. We even have a small hospital if you need more care. I’ll get some ointment for your face, my dear.” Annette bustled away. 

Solo looked as though he longed to lie down again, but sighed deeply instead. “I suppose we are going to get dragged to this backwater hospital before the night's over.” 

“I think we need proof your brain has not leaked out of your ears, Cowboy. And doctor should have a look at Gaby’s face.” Illya said softly, as she reached up to trace the swollen edge of her jaw. 

“How are you going to explain the chunk missing from your shoulder, Peril? That needs a good washing out and dressing too.” Solo replied. “I’m thinking you gouged yourself with a stick when we tumbled from the Ski-Doo you destroyed.” 

“Was accident.” Illya grumbled, and fingered the forgotten wound on the base of his neck. It did feel a bit too warm. 

“Are your feet looking better? You didn’t take off your socks last night. I wouldn’t want your toes to be gangrenous from when they almost froze.” Solo reminded.

“They’re fine. Quiet, she’s coming with the coffee.”

“You sound like family bickering out here.” Annette said holding a tray of water and coffee for each of them. 

Illya snagged Solo’s coffee away from him. “Bring him a soda please, hit his head, no coffee until the doctor sees him.” Solo scowled at Illya.

 

MFU

Illya rested back in the large jetted Jacuzzi where he could hear his team, having pre-emptively bugged their rooms. The warm water pushed at the stiff spots in his back, easing the overexerted muscles from days of either hauling Solo or the bugout bag through unforgiving territory. Gaby had the radio on in her room, half singing along, and he heard the tinkling of glass. He hoped she would not overindulge, as he was hoping to talk with her before they retired for the evening. 

Solo was snoring. For all his talk of having an elaborate bath, he had freshened up quickly, and hopped into bed. Illya had asked Waverly to remove the alcohol from his rooms prior to their arrival. Solo need some downtime before they were mission-ready again. Downtime where he was not chasing women, or drinking. For now, Solo seemed to take the doctor’s advice and his teammate’s guidelines to heart.

Illya dutifully kept the bandage on his neck dry, and his feet were intact. He planned to keep his calisthenics gentle, with plenty of stretching for the next few days, before returning to his normal routine. They should have made better time on that mission, and his inattention allowing them to be ambushed was inexcusable. Those men had been in place when Illya had made his way to the road, and he had been distracted. His finger was so busy tapping on his thigh, his vision tinting red as he reviewed his mistakes that had nearly cost his teammates their lives that he failed to notice Gaby leave her adjoining suite and enter his. The knock at the bathroom door caught him off guard, and that only made him tenser. He was losing his touch. 

“Illya, are you still in there?” Gaby called through the door. “You didn’t fall asleep in the tub?” She waited, and Illya tried to take a deep breath and calm himself. He rinsed the soap out of his hair, putting his head under the water. The act of cleaning himself edged away some of the tension. When he emerged, he heard another loud thud on the door. “Illya, answer me this instant. And why can I hear my radio playing in your bathroom? That’s not your snoring.” 

He stood up from the tub, feeling a rush, as the warm water had the blood circulating everywhere but his head. He grabbed one of the soft towels, and wrapped it around his waist, after drying his hands and switched off his radio scanners roughly. “I’m fine, Gaby. Go back to your room.” 

“I’ll wait. Do you have a robe in there?” Gaby said, a stubborn tilt in her voice.

“That’s not decent.” Illya said. 

“I’ll get Solo to come pick the lock.” Gaby threatened, and he realised she could hear the anger underlying his tone. She knew he was teetering on the edge of control. He was a poor actor. 

He tried a more even voice, but it just increased the thickness of his accent. “Cowboy’s asleep, finally. Leave him be.” He shrugged on the robe, tying it, and wished it covered more of his legs. His hair was wet and flat against his head. 

He unlocked and pulled open the door, and saw Gaby reclining at the foot of his bed, wearing silk pajamas, her legs crossed. Her eyes tracked up his body, to the bare skin poking out of the robe on his chest, and back down his arm, to where his hand was still twitching. 

Gaby’s brown eyes searched his face. “Illya, what’s wrong?” 

“I failed you both. Should have realized about ambush. Should never have left you alone.” Illya said, and repeating his failures out loud made it all the more real to him. Illya saw a frown on her face, and was sure he felt her realization of his ineptitude. He expected her to shout at him, or leave. He turned away, not wanting to see Gaby go. He thought too highly of her to have that memory. 

Gaby’s arms wrapped around him, and grabbed both of his hands, her tiny fingers doing their best to envelop his and still them. She laid her head between his shoulder blades, and Illya gratefully accepted the pain the contact with his bruise made. “Illya, calm down.” Gaby rocked on her feet, and Illya allowed himself to be moved with her. She lifted her head, and kissed the back of his robe, moving her hands up under his sleeves, and his hands did not start to twitch again. “Good,” she let go. “Turn around.” 

Illya did, looking at her brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I thought I wished you were not a man with this temper. I remember when you shot that man trying to kill me, and saw that anger then.” Gaby brought his hand up, and it trembled again. She pressed another kiss to his fingers. “I’m glad you got angry for me. But this, now, is pointless. What happened, happened. You did your best for us, and your best got us both out alive. Solo’s only regret is he’s not up to seducing the concierge. Don’t ignore everything that you did for us, for something that went wrong.” Gaby buried her face in his bare chest. 

“Gaby, this is not proper,” the words came out very quiet, a bit panicky. Gaby saw the look on Illya’s face, and she nodded understandingly and backed up. 

“What do you need me to do?”

“Leave,” Illya said quickly, and he saw a flash of hurt on her face. “So I can put on some clothes. Then I will come join you, and you can drink and dance, and I will learn.” 

“You want to dance with me?” Gaby asked. 

“Only you.” Illya answered and bent to her smiling lips. 

MFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read this story. I received such wonderful feedback with this, it’s hard not to want write more. I hope everyone enjoyed the conclusion, and the bit of romance.
> 
> I deeply appreciate the efforts of my beta –rebelliousrose, who was kind enough to tackle my work. 
> 
> Eleanourestel from fanfic asked for me to write a story where Solo was hurt and the team could not immediately access medical intervention, and PerilousCowboy requested me to write a hypothermia/stranded fic, when I was wondering what to tackle next. 
> 
> Next up is a twoshot were Solo’s proclivities lands him in a bit of trouble. 
> 
> Thank you everyone. See you next time. 
> 
> Appendix – Song list  
> Iron – Woodkid  
> Violet Hill – Coldplay  
> By My Side – 3 Doors Down  
> Breakdown - Tantric  
> It’s Been Awhile - Staind

**Author's Note:**

> There we go, a whopping chapter one. It was more action focussed than previous works, hope that translated well to the readers. 
> 
> If you a have moment, tell me how it went.


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